


Operation: Fire Dragon

by blufiresprite



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Action/Adventure, Donna Summer, F/M, Humor, Marauders' Era, POC James Potter, Pureblood Politics, Romance, Sports, Star Wars References, Wizarding Politics, reluctant athlete!Lily
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-04-05
Updated: 2018-05-13
Packaged: 2018-10-15 01:34:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 20
Words: 111,448
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10547792
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/blufiresprite/pseuds/blufiresprite
Summary: Dumbledore's latest experiment has got us all on broomsticks and I, Lily Evans, Head Girl, etc., can't even fly! Of course, I can't let anyone know this, so when I accidentally nose-dive and everyone thinks I've pulled off a Wronski Defensive Feint, I don't correct them. And that's how I start a feud with Bellatrix Black, become a Hogwarts legend, and fall for James Potter. Ft. R/S





	1. Operation Fire Dragon

**Author's Note:**

> Pairs reasonably well with some first year flying ambience (http://tinyurl.com/mplses5), though I prefer to mute the "Harry Potter spell" track, and make a few other adjustments.

Stupid Dumbledore. Stupid, _stupid_ Dumbledore and his ruddy “experiments.” Why did he choose to do this _now_? I mean—of all the time he’s been headmaster, why _now_? Why did he really have to do this my final year at Hogwarts? To peeve me? Eh? Is that what he’s after?

“Alright, Dumbledore? You’ve done it! You’ve got me all riled up! Now you can stop all this madness, if you please!” I shouted to the air.

 Jen gave me a look. “Er, Lily? The headmaster isn’t even here…”

I threw her a glare. “I know he’s not here, Jen! That is why I am yelling at him! Because I would probably be expelled if I yelled at him to his face!” Honestly! She calls herself my best friend of ten years? Pssh. She should be ashamed. She should renounce her title.

“Well considering he’s absolute nutters, I wouldn’t put it past him to burst out into song or something if you yelled at him in person,” Mary said from beside me.  She grabbed the handle of her broom and flew speedily in the direction of Marlene’s Quaffle. 

Did I mention _why_ I was so angry?

I, Lily Evans, Muggle rights activist, magical environmentalist galore, and Head Girl of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, was perched atop a broom. 

A _broom_. 

Above the ground.

Really _high up_ above the ground.

I screamed in my head so loudly that I could actually hear it resonate in the pitch around me. I didn’t know what the bloody hell I was doing! I _couldn’t fly!_ I was so terrified, and both my hands grasping the broom’s handle so tightly, that my knuckles were turning white, and I could actually hear the broom gasping for breath.

And Dumbledore was expecting _me_ , apparently, to lead my year in what he called “Operation Fire Dragon.” What the HADES does that even mean? I wouldn’t know. I didn’t bother asking. I was too shocked to say much of anything. Potter had to “ _Wingardium Leviosa!”_ me out of the Headmaster’s office I was so completely dumbstruck. Whenever he brought it up I would freeze to the spot. So he stopped bringing it up, and for a while I thought perhaps “Operation Fire Dragon” was just a dream.

I’d been very mistaken, however, for when Potter briefed the prefects about Dumbledore’s latest _grand_ idea at our meeting last Wednesday night, I couldn’t blink for a whole hour. 

You see, what made “Operation Fire Dragon” so very unnerving was that it involved _flying_. Which might sound like fun at first. But you would be wrong. 

Dumbledore wanted us to “flex [our] creative, intellectual, _and_ physical muscles,” and so thought that he’d make flying and everything to do with flying a _required course_ needed for graduation. The School Governors weren’t jumping up and down for joy at the idea (which I very much applaud), so they let him do this as an experiment. Though, if the class is actually approved, I’ll need it to graduate. Naturally, every Seventh Year was there with me, having the times of their lives.

Bastards.

Oh sure, it’s lots of fun riding around, throwing Quaffles, beating Bludgers, and not worrying that if you fall off your broom _you will fall to your death_!

“Miss Evans!” a loud voice said, piercing through my thoughts. 

I whipped my head around to find the source of the voice, only to end up whipping my broom wildly around with me, and found myself nose to nose with Madam Hooch. “AH!” I screamed in surprise. Then— _mistake_. I let go of the handle for _just one second_ to clap my hand over my mouth because I realized how ridiculous I sounded, and then my broom thought it would be nice to dip violently a few feet. 

There was no use for my hand at that point, anymore. I was screaming freely.

“Control your broom, Ms. Evans!” I heard Madam Hooch say vaguely through my whirling of doom.

“AAAARRRGGGHHH!!” was all I could say in response. I was going to die. I was for certain going to die. Oh, look! There’s the ground. Hmm. It’s getting rather closer. . . . 

I shut my eyes tightly, ready to hit the ground. Well, about as ready as you can get, anyway. As I clutched onto the handle for dear life, though, I somehow managed to pull it up at the last moment of my Dive of Death towards the Very Deadly Ground. 

I flew towards Madam Hooch, jerking to the left every so often, and hovered in front of her. “Yes, Madam Hooch?” I said, my voice shaking.

She didn’t answer. That’s when I realized that it was all too quiet. Checking my surroundings, I found that I had captured the attention of every student on the pitch. Wonderful. After a few moments, Hooch finally cleared her throat and said, “Alright, everyone! Back to what you were doing! I need to speak to Ms. Evans privately!” 

Oh great. She just _had_ to throw my name in there! Now anyone who didn’t know that it was _me_ flailing wildly through the air towards certain doom whilst doing a fantastic impression of Janis Joplin, would have my name and my broom-flying incompetence spread around the school by dinner! 

Much to my surprise, the tumult resumed as it had been before my near death experience. 

A knot formed in my throat as I thought how horribly I’d just humiliated myself. How absolutely ridiculous I must have looked, falling through the sky, screaming like a maniac. Oh, Merlin. I don’t even want to think about it! 

But it can’t have been that bad, right?

_No!_ My peers will understand it’s nothing to laugh about! I nearly crashed into the ground! I nearly _died_! Right? It _was_ a near death experience after all. (Even if I’m the only one calling it that.) But they won’t hold this against me! They simply can’t! I was seriously almost eaten by the ground! 

Hooch suddenly cleared her throat again. “Right,” she said. “Now, Ms. Evans, before I go on, I can have the whole pitch Obliviated if you want.” 

My eyes popped out of their sockets. Or maybe it _was_ that bad… Curses!

“O-obliviated?” I stammered. 

“Yes, Obliviated, Ms. Evans. I can have their memory of your dive erased forever,” she rejoined. “In fact, I will do it personally—if you wish.” 

Oh Merlin. She wasn’t joking. “Was it really that bad?” I asked after a pause.

The flying professor, whom I’d known since First Year when she told me flying was like riding a bicycle and then forgot to mention that it was only a metaphor, looked me directly in the eye and said, “Yes.” 

I gulped. Here she was, though, evidently attempting to protect my pride. Could I take the embarrassment that was sure to come? Good Godric! If only I hadn’t been so jumpy when she’d called my name! 

“Wait, what was it that you wanted to tell me before?” I asked, recalling the events leading up to my near death experience. 

She gave a little cough and jerked her head meaningfully to my right. I looked—carefully this time—behind me and glimpsed Frank Longbottom scribbling furiously on a pad of parchment.

Just what I needed. 

“Mr. Longbottom is here to cover Operation Fire Dragon for his zine. He wanted an interview with you,” Hooch said. 

I nodded, thinking fast. “I’ll be right back!” I called to Hooch. Cautiously, I tipped my handle slightly downwards, and made a wide circle around Hooch before arriving in front of the journalist sure to be describing in enthusiastic detail how I’d just flung myself towards the ground like a crazed monkey. 

“Hey, Longbottom,” I said casually, once I’d steadied my broom. 

He looked up at me and beamed. “That dive you just made? Bloody brilliant! How’d you learn the Wronski Defensive Feint so well?” 

I blinked up at him. “What?” I said in a monotone reflective of the state of my brain. What was he going _on_ about? 

“Your flying skills! They’re pretty amazing. I’ve got to be honest, Evans. I’ve been told you were about as natural on a broom as a snow storm in August. I didn’t know they were just being ironic!” 

I opened my mouth to say something, couldn’t figure out what, and shut up again.

Frank was too busy rambling anyway to notice my moment as a gaping fish. “I wasn’t sure I could find an interesting angle for this story, but now I think I’ve actually got one!” 

He beamed at me again. “Erm—” I started. I was about to say, “Erm, you’ve got a very interesting angle indeed,” when the Marauders showed up, their arms pumping through the air as though they were worshipping something. 

And they were all giving me frightening conspiratorial grins. I tried to smile back, but I might have looked like someone who didn’t know how to smile in front of a camera. They were creeping me out, with all their arm waving and evil grins! 

Wait. Are they—? 

No.

Worshipping—me? 

“I didn’t know you had it in you, Evans!” said Sirius Black, grey eyes winking. Huh?  “I’ve got to admit, though, I’m quite put out I didn’t think of doing it myself.” 

Potter was smirking at me, his bronze skin glowing in the sunlight. “I know you told me not to pull any stunts while we were out here today, Lily, but I didn’t know it was because you wanted all the attention for yourself,” he teased.

Remus bumped me in the shoulder playfully. “Bit of a secret athlete are we, Lily?” he said. 

If I was a fish before, I’d turned into a basilisk with a dislocated jaw. 

“Planning to catch the Snitch, too, eh?” Pettigrew said, laughing. 

I stared at him blankly before catching on. I closed my mouth right up, and felt the warmth rise in my cheeks as everyone laughed. I didn’t know what to think! What the hell was going on?! 

Potter stopped laughing and gave me a strange look. “What do you mean, ‘what’s going on’? You’re a star!” Oops. Evidently, I’d said that out loud… 

“More than that! You’re my new idol, Evans,” Black quipped. Then he gave me a triumphant grin. “I knew you had a little Marauder in you! You just had to let it out!” 

“Can I use that as a direct quote?” Longbottom asked, turning to Black. 

Potter turned to me, his eyes twinkling behind his glasses. “So how does it feel to break the rules and cause a scene?”

“Er…” I responded smartly. I was saved from continuing my very intelligent speech when my friends decided to grace us with their presence. 

“Oh my God, Lily! Are you okay?! That was some fall!” Jen said, grasping my elbows tightly. It was her way of giving me a hug without obliging me to let go of the broom handle. I gave her a warm smile, silently transmitting happy and positive thoughts to her for her act of kindness. 

Then I noticed Remus was giving Jen a confused look. 

“Fall? What are you talking about? That was beautiful flying! An artful mastery of the Wronski Feint technique!” Potter exclaimed, apparently affronted. 

No way. It was with great self-control that I managed to keep my mouth from unhinging again. 

“Not to mention the timing,” Remus added.

Black chuckled. “I can’t believe you had the bollocks to pull that off just after Hooch yelled at Nott to—what was it she said, Wormtail?” 

Pettigrew grinned at the memory. “I believe she used the phrase, ‘cease your ill-maneuvered antics at once.’” 

Frank ripped to the next sheet of parchment rather violently as he said, “Could you say that one more time?” 

“What was Nott doing, exactly?” Mary asked us, lifting an eyebrow. I feigned indifference and pretended I hadn’t heard her question.  It wasn’t like I could give a satisfying answer. 

Marlene snorted. “Didn’t you see? It made me almost fall off my broom from laughter!” 

At the blank look on Mary’s face, Potter started to explain. “Nott was being all manly, showing off to his mates and such. So he’s trying his own broom at the Feint—” 

“And of course he’s utter shite,” cut in Black. 

“—yeah, I’ll give you that,” Potter said, laughing. “Anyway, so he’s trying to dive towards the ground in the way of the Wronski, loses total control, and just crashes into one of the hoops—”

“Because he’s utter shite,” Pettigrew repeated, smirking. 

Potter chuckled. “Yes. And the _scream_ he emitted!”

Remus joined in on the laughter. “It was as though a very spoiled toddler’s most precious toy had been ripped from their arms, and then told to go to their room.”

I couldn’t help but laugh a little at the comparison. Wait a second! I’d _heard_ that scream! Just after I’d yelled at Dumbledore… 

“And then you go and do a perfect impression of him—” Black started. 

“—Scream and all—” Pettigrew threw in. 

Black barked with laughter. “The look on Nott’s face was priceless!” 

I pretended to look rather pleased with myself. Mary and Marlene had joined in the Marauders’ laughter. Only Jen seemed to doubt their story. 

She had her eyebrows raised at me, as though she knew such a stunt was simply out of character for me. Well, I suppose everyone knew that, which is why it’s come as such a surprise. 

But if I’m being congratulated instead of humiliated for my fall, there’s really no harm in letting them think I did the Wronski Defensive on purpose! Right? So why, then, did Madam Hooch suggest she Obliviate everyone?

I excused myself from my new fan club (I shook my head and grinned slightly at the thought), and went to find out for myself. As I flew around carefully, I caught sight of Madam Hooch’s deep purple robes. I steadied myself for a moment, and prepared to fly in her direction. I was a bit wobbly on the broom, but I felt like perhaps I was starting to finally get the hang of it. I leaned forward slightly and the broom accelerated evenly. I leaned slightly to my left and found, to my surprise, that my broom followed. 

Sweet Merlin! 

Had it really always been this easy? 

I smiled to myself. I felt suddenly exhilarated. I led my broom to the right, then to the left, and to the right again, zigzagging my way through an intense game of bludger cricket. I was so enthralled, I nearly forgot to duck as a speeding bludger came right towards me. Dodging it just in time, I bobbed up again, feeling invincible on my broom. Spotting Madam Hooch up ahead, I sped up to meet her, a gleaming look of triumph on my face. 

The whole world seemed to be in agreement with me today—even if I mucked something up, as I had earlier, it would put everything right. The sun was shining on my face, the wind was in my hair, and I was unstoppable. I was one with the universe. I am he as you are he as you are me as we are all together. Or however it is that tripped out Beatles song goes. Nothing could ruin my mood. Nothing _would_ ruin my mood. I was sure of it. Now if only I could understand why Madam Hooch thought it would be best to Obliviate everyone, then I would be truly hap— 

“You bloody hypocrite!” came a shrill voice from behind me. “Always have to be showing off, don’t you?” 

—py. 

What in Merlin’s name? Way to ruin the moment! But, who was showing off? I looked around to see if I could spot any “bloody hypocrites” doing some acrobatic tricks they weren’t supposed to be doing.

“Oi! Turn around you great big flaming head! I’m talking to you!” the annoying voice said again. 

I looked around, but I didn’t see anyone with their hair on fire doing flips and turns in the air. Nor were there any redheads that I could make out. 

Wait. 

_I_ have red hair. 

Is that shrill nuisance talking to me? 

And calling _ME_  A—a— _hypocrite?!_  

I repeat: WHAT IN MERLIN’S NAME?

Turning around to face the offender, I was practically seething at the accusation of being a show-off. I kept my cool, though. Whoever was bashing me, literally behind my back, didn’t deserve it, however. 

And what do you know? It was Bellatrix Black there to come ruin my world. I supposed I was wrong before about being one with the universe. Perhaps I had been feeling a little _too_ at one with it, and it felt it should teach me not to be so cocky? Well, lesson learned, Universe! I shut my eyes tightly, concentrating all of my energy on one hopeful thought: Take me out of this gigantic airy classroom, Universe, before Bella takes me out with her nasty, illegal wandwork! 

I popped an eye open. 

…Nothing happened. 

Bugger.

Bella was still there, looking as horrible as ever. A nasty sneer curled her lips, revealing only that she would have serious wrinkles around her mouth in about twenty years. “Did you think you could get away with it just because you’re Head Girl, Evans?” 

Good Godric. “What are you on about, Black?” I asked as coldly as I could. 

She rolled her eyes. “Oh, don’t give me that, Evans. You know exactly what I’m on about.” 

“Sorry, no,” I said, shrugging.

She leaned forwards on her broom and suddenly she was right in my face. I flew backwards with a jolt. She smirked, looking satisfied. “You should be more careful about who you decide to humiliate next time, _Lily_ ,” she said contemptuously. “Because you’re really going to regret you ever messed with Nott.” 

I raised an eyebrow at her. Sure, I might have looked cool on the outside, but inside, I was freaking out. What was I supposed to say? “No, no, Bella, you misunderstand. I wasn’t messing with Nott. I actually just lost total control of my broom like the idiot klutz that I am, and somehow managed nott, hahaha, forgive the pun, to splatter onto the ground. Funny coincidence about Nott, though, huh?” Um, NOOO. First off, she wouldn’t believe me. And second, if she _did_ believe me, I might as well hand my entrails to her on a silver platter, because the damage she could do with such a humiliating story was _unthinkable_. 

“Am I really?” I said finally. 

She gritted her teeth and through them she whispered, “When you least expect it, you little Muggle-born shite.” 

“Oh, I’m the shite, am I, Black?” I yelled. 

Bella growled, drawing out her wand. 

Sliding mine down my sleeve and into my wand hand, I continued, “Because of my _heritage_? Because my parents aren’t wizards? Or is it because for the life of you, you can’t understand why someone of _my_ blood has more talent in her little finger than you will ever even dream of?” 

Our wands were facing, Bella looking venomous. I could imagine I held a similar expression. A flash of purple came between us, and it took me a moment to recognize it as Madam Hooch. “Ms. Evans! Ms. Black! Wands down, for Merlin’s sake! I will not have a duel in the middle of your recreational period! Ten points from both your houses!” 

“She started it!” we said in unison. My eyes narrowed at her and I heard her hissing. I suppose Slytherin suits her. 

Madam Hooch gave us both reproving looks. “It is obvious the two of you have differences that need settling. You may do so tonight in detention.”

I gaped at her. “But, Madam Hooch!” I started. I was just going to ask her to Obliviate everyone! If I had just told her to do it in the first place, instead of basking in my undeserved glory, none of this would have happened! 

“I’ll hear none of it, Ms. Evans. You have caused quite the stir this morning. I would have expected more of our Head Girl,” she answered. Ouch. She’d said it, though. I should not have drawn my wand when I did. But I was just so angry! How was I supposed to keep my “Head Girl cool” with Bella throwing such nasty bait at me, calling me “Muggle-born shite”? That’s a horrible thing to say! 

Madam Hooch shooed Bella away, and off Bella flew, but not before subtly dragging her forefinger across her throat as she passed me by. My jaw clenched. I was more than angry; I was fuming. I turned to Madam Hooch and exclaimed, “Don’t you know what she said to me? She called me ‘Muggle-born shite!’” 

Madam Hooch’s eyebrows rose dramatically. “I understand. But a Head Girl cannot go around throwing hexes at whomever she pleases—” 

I frowned. “It’s not whomever I please! I was merely defending myself! _She_ got out her wand first! Was I just supposed to sit there on my broom like a sitting diricawl?” 

“My mistake, Ms. Evans. A Head Girl cannot go around throwing hexes, whatever the reason. It sets a bad example for all the other students. It is simply not acceptable. I can revoke your detention, considering no hexes _were_ thrown, however, and that you pulled your wand out purely out of defense.” 

“Thank you!” I said, slightly self-righteous. I crossed my arms across my chest and was so angry I did not realize I was still flying without having both my hands on the handle.

Madam Hooch put a hand up. “However, if I revoke your detention, I must pay the same mercy to your peer.” 

I groaned, placing my head exasperatedly in my hands. “ _Why?_ ” 

She went on to explain something or other about fairness, neutrality, and how nothing really did happen, so any evidence I had that made Bella the villain in the story could not be taken into consideration because we were being punished for drawing our wands, blah blah blah. The sky is blue. The grass is green. James Potter is “in love” with me. And a whole lot of other empty truths. Eventually she got to her point. “Therefore do you, or do you not, Ms. Evans, wish for me to revoke both yours and Ms. Black’s detention?”

I nodded begrudgingly. 

“Alright,” Madam Hooch said. “I’ll have Ms. Black know you were courteous enough to let her off today.” She was about to leave, but I called after her. She turned expectedly towards me, a knowing smile on her face. 

“Is this why you told me I should probably have everyone Obliviated?” I asked, with a sinking feeling in the pit of my stomach. I really wanted it to be another reason. Anything, actually. Like, if everyone knew about my fall, they would suddenly turn into pixies. Or that I would wake up with technicolor teeth, blinding complete strangers with as little effort as a smile. Or even that my fall and my miracle Wronski Defensive Feint had somehow changed the core physical laws of the universe, causing gravity to exist no longer, and the Earth to simultaneously implode and explode. 

Instead, she nodded. “Unfortunately, Ms. Evans,” she started, after a few more groans from me, “too much time has passed, and too many people have already left the pitch. This makes completing my previous plan impossible. I am afraid there will be no Obliviating today, and you will just have to live with the consequences.” 

I mentally stabbed myself in the gut. How fantastic was this bit of news? She left me to my miserable self, and I slowly flew my way back to my friends.

“Bloody well done, that!” some strange boy said to me, patting me on the back as I passed him. A whole lot of his mates joined in on it. 

I was well depressed, and no amount of “What talent! What humor! What genius!” could get me out of this foul mood. 

Bellatrix Black and her Slytherin cronies were going to have me fed to the giant squid for humiliating Nott. The irony was cruel. I had humiliated myself, only to find out everyone thought it was a sarcastic throwback to Nott’s “ill-maneuvered antics.” 

What cruel fate is this?! This is _exactly_ why I didn’t want “Operation Fire Dragon” to start!

Bloody hell.


	2. I'd Take the Wookiee Any Day

 That night after dinner, while Mary and Marlene were in the Common Room writing their Charms essays, Jen managed to pull me away from being my usual, helpful self, and sat me down in our dormitory to interrogate me. 

“Alright, Lily,” she began, standing some little ways from me, suspicion etched in everything from the lift of a single eyebrow to the timbre of her voice. “What’s going on?” 

I had two choices. I could just tell her the truth, and the Jen Inquisition would be over before it started. But then I’d have to admit that I wasn’t a masterpiece flyer, that I wasn’t a comical genius, or even a winged Wronski warrior (that last one had been Peter and Sirius’s invention, to which I was quite partial). 

Or I could just play dumb. Play dumb and pretend like I had planned it all: I had kept my amazing flying talent a secret from even my best mate just to pull off my one and only master prank. Hogwarts would remember me as a legend.  _I would be a legend_.

 Yep, that story sounds way better.

I frowned slightly, to try and convey slight confusion with a hint of nonchalance as I casually replied, “What do you mean?”

Jen rolled her eyes. “Oh, give me some credit, Lily! I’m your best friend! I _know_  you hate flying because it’s the only thing you are actually bad at, and I _know_  that today you almost  _died_ , but by some freak coincidence everyone thought you were just mocking  _Nott_ , and I  _know_  that you prefer that version of reality to what was actually a near death experience!”

_Play dumb, play dumb, play dumb…_

“What do you mean?” I repeated, my lips forming a slight grimace as I realized I couldn’t even convince myself of my sincerity.

 Jen continued to stare at me, the fury in her face causing the lifted eyebrow to tremble. “ _Lily_.”

 “I don’t know what you’re talking about!” I insisted. “I’m a winged Wronski warrior. I’m sorry I didn’t tell you before, but you’re just going to have to live with it.” 

_Play dumb, play dumb, you can talk yourself out of this one, just play dumb…_

“You’re being ridiculous! You and I both know that you  _can’t fly_! You were just cursing Dumbledore about it two minutes before you almost crashed to death!”

 _Lie, lie, lie!_  

“It was a ruse!” I lied, a smile coming to my face as this imagined history made its way through my mouth and into existence. “I was only pretending I was a bad flyer because I didn’t want to intimidate anyone with my exceptional talent.” 

She scoffed and flipped her short brown hair over her shoulder. “Are you even listening to yourself right now? It’s not like I’m going to blackmail you or anything, Lily; I’m your  _best friend_ ,” she said, her gaze softening as looked me square in the eye. “I just want to make sure you are okay.” 

I sighed, and looked at my fidgeting fingers in my lap.

Jen sat down next to me. As soon as I looked at her again, it was like a dam broke inside me, and I had to tell her everything. 

So I did. 

Afterwards, the only thing she could come up with was, “So now Bellatrix Black has threatened you with payback of some sort?  _Why are you not freaking out about this_?” 

“Two reasons: One, I’m Head Girl. They would have to be really stupid to try and mess with me. I can take away house points, assign detentions, _and_ take away privileges. On the spot. And two, did I mention I was Head Girl, or... ?”

Jen was wide-eyed. “That’s exactly why you should be freaking out, Lily! Slytherins don’t play by the rules; they play by loopholes. Whatever they’re planning, it won’t be good.” 

“I suppose I should be grateful I don’t have to spend the evening with Bellatrix Black in detention, then,” I bit out sarcastically. 

“Grateful? You should be on your hands and knees, pledging your lifelong devotion to Circe!” Jen exclaimed. 

I rolled my eyes. She was _so_ dramatic. 

“I should be pledging my devotion to Madame Hooch! She’s the one who saw how badly this could be for me—she even offered to Obliviate the pitch! 

Jen gasped. “Isn’t that _illegal_?” 

I shrugged. “We’re minors under the care and protection of Hogwarts. They could Obliviate us for lesser reasons.” 

Jen squared her shoulders. “Unbelievable. I’m starting a petition to recognize the student body as autonomous and deserving protections—INCLUDING consent to such illicit charms!” 

I raised an eyebrow at her. “I believe those protections are actually the rights of our parents and guardians, and therefore we have no autonomy.” 

“Well, even better, because I’m sure my parents are going to love hearing about this!” Jen exclaimed. She was already digging through her bag for some parchment and a quill. “I’m going to write to them this instant!” she announced, and took off to the Owlery. 

Jen’s parents were barristers of the Wizengamot, and her faith in the legal process was her solution to every problem she’s encountered, not that anything has ever come of it. She’ll probably end up following her parents’ footsteps into the Wizengamot herself. 

In the meantime, activist/revolutionary Lily Evans hardly got anywhere without best friend Jennifer Till checking to makes sure it was legal, which can be really annoying as far as leading revolutions goes. 

This year, I was dead set on protesting the ridiculous physical education requirement. I mean, we lived in a CASTLE, and everything was MILES away from each other. Our physiques were in perfect order, having to run from the dungeons to the astronomy tower in the ten minutes between classes. I honestly didn’t see the point of Operation Fire Dragon! It was cutting into my N.E.W.T. study time! 

These were all points I had intended to bring up with our Headmaster in our Head meeting the first week of classes, but had failed to do so since I froze to the spot in shock and fear. 

And Potter _obviously_ was in favour of the idea, the smug git, with his flying prowess, and couldn’t see the problems inherent in the process. For him, Operation Fire Dragon was just more time for he and his mates to bugger around and sneak dungbombs into the pockets of unsuspecting Slytherins. Or at least, that’s what Narcissa Black would have you believe, but honestly, it’s the least of my problems if her sister is still a threat. 

I didn’t have to spend detention with her tonight, thank the goddesses, but that didn’t mean I wasn’t on the receiving end of a few well-aimed glares and sneers from the Slytherin table at dinner. 

I sighed heavily and made my way back down to the Common Room. Mary and Marlene were both still there, their Charms essays abandoned as they whispered and giggled to each other, clearly distracted. “Never fear, Lily Evans is here, come to save you from failing N.E.W.T.-level Charms, my darlings!” I announced, sitting across from them on a plush armchair by the fire. 

Mary’s cool blue gaze swivelled to mine and she rolled her eyes. “Honestly, Lily, we can manage perfectly on our own.” 

“I’ve been gone the whole of an hour, and you two have yet to finish your essays! You should have been done by now,” I pointed out. 

Marlene shrugged, her curled bob dancing along her shoulders. “We’re taking our time. The essays aren’t due until next week, anyway.” 

“Suit yourself,” I answered primly. “But when you get Potions analyses assigned tomorrow, and Arithmancy problems the next day, and Transfiguration on Friday, you’ll be up to your ears with work and will hardly have any time to devote to Charms.” 

“Ugh, _fine_ ,” conceded Mary. “Have it your way. But this is why you don’t have a life, you know.” 

I gasped, _totally offended_. “I do too have a life!” I cried. 

What did she take me for? An Inferius? 

“Lily, when was the last time you just sat down and talked to us?” Mary asked. 

I opened my mouth to reply—because, obviously, _I was talking to them right now_ —but she cut me off. 

“About something other than schoolwork?” 

“Or Head duties,” added Marlene. She raised an eyebrow conspiratorially and leaned forward. “The only thing I’m interested in _right now_ is how cute our Head Boy looks when he’s trying to be serious in front of the prefects just for the benefit of our Head Girl.” Her lips curved into a wide smile over straight, white teeth and she burst into laughter. 

Marlene McKinnon is always laughing. And when she laughs, she looks _exactly_ like Donna Summer, who incidentally happens to be Marlene’s idol. She frequently breaks out into Donna Summer songs, most often, “Love to Love You Baby,” and does Donna’s disco arms. It’s quite the impeccable impression. 

Donna Summer aside, it’s almost impossible not to laugh when she laughs. Even when she’s talking about something as ridiculous as Potter being cute. 

“C’mon, Lily, let’s have a good old-fashioned chat about non-school related things, and then we’ll get back to our essays,” coaxed Marlene. 

She stared at me with large, laughing eyes, and I couldn’t help but agree. “Okay! Ten minutes of unadulterated chatter, and then it’s back to work!” 

“Thank Merlin!” exclaimed Mary. She lowered her voice and leaned in. “Alright, I’ve been dying to ask you for ages—don’t you think Remus and Sirius are always sitting just a _little_ too close together?” 

“We’ve been watching them for the past month,” said Marlene. “Things have definitely escalated between them.” 

I thought I was known for my observational skills, but I’d clearly missed this! I turned in my chair to watch the aforementioned boys and noticed that, yes, they _were_ rather snug on the loveseat in the corner of the room. And if I didn’t know any better, I’d say the arm that Black had casually thrown over the back of the sofa was more than just a little casual. 

“Interesting,” I mused, viewing the pair. I turned back to the girls, and they were both watching me with curious expressions.

“Well?” asked Marlene. 

“Well,” I repeated, slowly thinking of a tactful answer. 

I mean, firstly, it was no secret that Sirius Black was the biggest flirt to ever walk the halls of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. He flirted with everyone—literally _everyone_ : girls, boys, professors, ghosts—he’s even known to have flirted with the centaurs in the Forbidden Forest. 

I honestly thought he wasn’t sure how to communicate without making it rude, but maybe he was just compensating for falling in love with one of his best mates, who happened to be a boy. 

Secondly, Remus Lupin was so closed off that it was difficult to know anything about him except that according to his academic records, he was pretty clever, and preferred the quiet of the library to the gobstone matches of the courtyards. 

Could they be in love? It was possible. But obviously, it wasn’t anyone’s place to out them if they didn’t want to be outed. People still had a difficult time accepting Muggle-borns in this world; the idea of two boys in a relationship might be totally unheard of. At least, it was usually kept quiet in the Muggle world. 

Except that Mary and Marlene, both from magical families, didn’t seem to think it was a problem. So there might be more going on here than I knew what to make of, and I didn’t want to create a problem where there wasn’t one. 

“Well,” I said again, blinking up at them. “Whether they’re a couple or not, they’re definitely very comfortable with each other.” 

“Yeah, maybe _too_ comfortable,” said Mary in a low voice. “I’d just like to know if I’ve been wasting my time pining after Remus the last three years of my life.” 

Marlene twisted to face her, her expression one of pity. “I don’t think he’d have to be in a relationship with Sirius Black to tell you it was a waste of your time, love.” 

Mary smacked her on the arm. “Harsh, Marlene!”

Marlene cracked a smile, the laugh blooming in her throat before she could stop it. “I’m sorry! But as your mate, I think it’s best if I’m honest with you.”

Mary rolled her eyes, sitting up and pushing her feathered blonde hair over her shoulders. “You could have the decency to spare my feelings,” she muttered. 

Marlene giggled, then turned her attention back to me. “So, exactly _how_ cute does James look when he’s in front of all the prefects?”

Here we go, the old joke. I’d stopped complaining about stupid Potter and his stupid seduction traps when I realized that Marlene was not-so-secretly supportive of Potter’s goals regarding me, Lily Evans, to go out with him. 

She would actually do recon and ask me bizarre questions about what I found attractive (a good sense of humor), and what my perfect first date was (a trip into Hogsmeade). Needless to say, after Potter had asked me in a thousand different, usually ostentatiously (read: horrifically) comedic ways to Hogsmeade, I figured out that it was all Marlene’s fault. 

I spent the better part of Easter fifth year ignoring her for it. 

So now, since she doesn’t take anything seriously and is always game for a laugh, she teases me about Potter whenever she can. 

I thought about it for a moment, wondering if Potter was cute at all in front of the prefects. He usually just makes a few jokes before cutting to the chase and reminding everyone to sign up for rounds, or passing along whatever new information the Heads of Houses have come up with that week. He was as he always was: effortlessly charming, funny, and a natural leader. 

I made a noncommittal noise in the back of my throat and said, “He is exactly 9% cute in front of the prefects, which is not 1% more or less cute than he is normally.” 

“An intriguing statistic,” murmured a voice over my head. 

I turned in my seat and felt a blush creeping up my neck and into my cheeks as I spied one, James Potter, hovering behind my armchair. 

He and Marlene traded knowing looks. 

 _Et tu, Brutus?_  

“I think I’d give myself top marks for cuteness,” he said, making his way to the empty spot next to Marlene on the large, plump sofa she shared with Mary. “Wouldn’t you say so, McKinnon?” 

Marlene looked over at Potter with undisguised warmth. I could tell she genuinely liked the chap, but for the life of me, I couldn’t say the same thing. 

And if she agreed with him, I would have no choice but to introduce her to my other shoulder, which was icier than the first one. 

However, she took one glance at my murderous glare and grinned. “I’ll give you top marks for eavesdropping, mate,” she replied with a hearty laugh. 

Potter didn’t blanch, he merely turned his hazel eyes on me. “So if I’m 9% cute, the other 91% of me must be—?” 

He left the question open, and I’d be the antagonist in this tale if I said he was 91% insufferable, because truthfully, he _wasn’t_ 91% insufferable. Maybe like 25% insufferable, but 91% was honestly too much for any one person to carry out. 

I cocked my head to the side in deliberation. “You’re probably at least 17% athletic,” I began, listing off the most neutral qualities I could think of. 

Because I didn’t _hate_ him. 

And I wasn’t secretly in love with him, either. 

Honestly, everyone needed to get a grip and stop trying to get us together! It just wasn’t going to happen! 

“So I’m nearly twice as athletic as I am cute,” concluded a nonplussed Potter. He lounged into the seat cushion, a leg crossing over his knee in a casual pose. He seemed to be taking it all in stride as he was more entertained by my rubbish statistics than anything else. “Do go on.” 

What else was I supposed to say? What _could_ I say? He was a bad influence? 

But that hadn’t been true for a while, now. Otherwise, he wouldn’t have been made Head Boy. 

He was always game for a laugh, just like Marlene, but that hardly seemed like a telling-off, and I’d rather not compliment him. 

“You’re definitely 34% mischievous,” I added, finally finding the right word. 

The corners of his lips twitched, but he remained otherwise unfazed by this. 

“Ten percent of you is good with crowds, 5% of you is bad with authority, er—how much have I got left?” 

I’d started to lose count! 

“Thirty-five per cent, love,” answered Mary, smirking widely. 

Great Circe’s ghost! 

I was running out of adjectives! I was tired of this game already and it wasn’t even over yet. 

Potter was _exhausting!_  

I cleared my throat nervously. “Right. So, let’s see.” I began to just rattle off generic descriptions as quickly as I could. “You’re about 12% clever, 11% charming, and—and,” I stammered, my cheeks beginning to warm. 

Charming? I had called him _charming??!!_ SINCE WHEN??!?! 

I was like a fountain of half-formed thoughts just flowing effortlessly out of my big fat mouth and into the world where everyone just believes what I say. I mean, honestly. Since when has Potter ever been charming? 

Sometimes I wish I could wear a sign that would turn on when I’m just sputtering absolute malarkey. In this instance, it would have started flashing the following in bright, red and gold lettering: 

DON’T BELIEVE ME. I KNOW NOT WHAT I SAY. 

The worst part was that Potter was practically glowing at the compliment. I cursed myself for being so stupid—he was going to read into this and ruin whatever amity we’d fallen into as Head Boy and Girl. I really couldn’t deal with that this year. He mustn’t believe he has any hope with me. I could already see the hope growing around his head like a dizzying arrangement of optimistic tulips sprouting up through a thawing snow. 

I needed to deflate his prospects at all costs! 

Grasping for any kind of objective insult, my eyes went wide and I quickly blurted, “And 12% blind!” 

He burst into surprised guffaws, his hand going to his stomach as he struggled to breathe through his laughter. He had a very deep and rolling laugh. The girls joined him, giggling and chortling. 

I was definitely blushing at this point, and I couldn’t understand why.

I mean, it wasn’t that funny! I was clearly in a panic! My friends should be supporting me, and instead they were _laughing at me_. It was not a position to be envied, that’s for sure. 

I cleared my throat again, scrambling to get a handle on the situation and folded my hands primly in my lap. I turned to a giggling Mary and a snorting Marlene and waited for their sniggering to die down. “Girls, I believe it’s time to get back to your essays.” 

They groaned, Marlene muttering “Killjoy” disdainfully under her breath. 

“You’ll thank me later,” I insisted. 

Mary pouted. “Yes, _Mum_ ,” she said sarcastically. 

Potter stared at this exchange, intrigued. “Are you doing the Charms essays that Flitwick assigned us _this morning_?” he asked incredulously. 

I nodded as though it were very important and serious business. “Yes, Potter. It is very important and serious business.” 

He smirked, amused. “I can tell,” he said evenly. 

 _Oh, sod off!_ I wanted to say this, but I am a mature and civilized woman of the world, so I did not. 

Mary and Marlene had slouched down onto the floor and over the coffee table to continue writing their essays, though judging by the lack of scribbling from their perfectly poised quills, I could tell they were distracted by the conversation between Potter and me. 

“However,” started Potter, and I could hear the smirk in his voice without looking up. “You _do_ know that that essay isn’t due for another two weeks, right?” 

I scoffed. “It’s due in a week, Potter!” I turned a stern glare to the girls on the floor. Mary had already slumped away from the table and was looking ready to stuff her parchment between the pages of her Charms textbook. “Don’t even _think_ about it, Mary.” 

She grumbled and scribbled something onto her parchment. 

Potter was relentless. “I think you’ll find, Evans, that you’re wrong.” 

Oh my giddy Godric’s pajamas. This boy. I was going to murder this boy. 

“Potter, stop distracting them!” I snapped. “It doesn’t matter when they’re due; these two are completing their essays _tonight_ , end of story. I will not be forced to stay up until two in the morning the night before they’re due because they hadn’t yet started them and they need my help. So if they want my help, it’s happening now, on my time.” 

“Blimey, Evans,” breathed Potter, his eyes wide and his eyebrows raised in an inscrutable expression. “Remind me never to ask _you_ for help.” 

“It’s a perfectly reasonable stipulation!” I cried defensively. I mean, honestly. I can’t be expected to deprive myself of sleep when I can tutor my friends in a timely manner. That meant they would adhere to _my_ schedule this year. As it is, they’re both going to need extra help with N.E.W.T.-level Charms, and Flitwick asked me _specifically_ to tutor them. 

He snorted. “Yeah, if you’re a control-freak,” he muttered. 

Mary and Marlene cracked identical grins and Marlene not-so-subtly turned her choking laughter into a cough. 

I pursed my lips in a hard line. I didn’t need Potter judging me. It was none of his business, anyway. “Don’t you have a broom cupboard to go blow up or something?” I asked, annoyed. 

“Not til next Thursday,” he answered jovially without skipping a beat. 

Ugh, didn’t he understand I was trying to get him to leave me alone? Jen had already distracted us long enough, and at this rate, we would be an entire day behind in our workload. Of course, that was something Potter never had to worry about. He was extraordinarily clever and didn’t have to study as much as the rest of us. It came all too easily to him and that only soured my mood even more. 

He had a stupid shit-eating grin plastered on his face and I imagined he was enjoying this far too much. I was determined to sour his mood as much as he’d soured mine. Fair was fair, after all. 

I tossed my hair behind my shoulder and narrowed my eyes at him. “Oh, honestly, Potter. _Grow up!_ ” 

That had struck a nerve. His lips came down in a pursed frown at the unexpected acid in my voice, and the muscles in his neck and shoulders seemed to tense. Slowly, he sat upright, his entire body all sharp angles against the plush sofa. He stared at me for a long while before finally sucking in his cheeks and letting out a slow breath of air that fogged up his glasses. He blinked a few times before they cleared up and then he smiled a smaller, dimmer smile, but a smile nonetheless. 

“I think I’d better leave you to it, then.” He wrung his hands and wiped his palms down the front of his thighs before getting up and sighing again. “Later, McKinnon, McDonald.” He shot a small smile at me before heading behind me to where I imagined his friends had gathered. 

“Finally,” I said, and I felt like I could actually breathe again. 

Marlene tutted. “That wasn’t very nice of you, Lily.” 

Mary nodded her head. “I thought you were actually getting on, too.” 

“Oh, whatever, he’ll get over it. Now Mary, what have you gone and written there?” I peered over her shoulder at the first sentence of the essay. 

 _The Summoning Charm is a lot like the Force in the Star Wars films_. 

“Oh my Godric,” I started, unnerved. “Firstly, you absolutely can _not_ start your essay like that! Flitwick knows I’m tutoring you! And secondly, _no_ , the Summoning Charm is _not_ like the Force in _Star Wars_!” 

“But the Jedis were able to Summon their lightsabers from across the room using the Force!” she argued. 

“EXACTLY!” I said, as though that was supposed to explain everything. 

“The Force is actually more like a spiritual energy that when harnessed properly, can allow you to do various things, telekinetic abilities—similar to some properties of the Summoning Charm—included.” Mary and I looked blinkingly up at the long, pale face of a very matter-of-fact Remus Lupin. 

“Right,” I added, uncertainly. “So the energy is equivalent to magic. Magic gives us the ability to Summon things, but it is not telekinesis.” 

Remus grimaced. “Well, not exactly.” And then Remus Lupin proceeded to talk to us for a good fifteen minutes about how the different ways to use the Force was more like the different ways to use magic—not about particular spells. It was the most I’d ever heard him say in all seven years of knowing him. And strangely, though perhaps not surprisingly, considering who his mates were, he was easy to talk to. 

“Chewbacca definitely descends from the Tibetan Yetis,” he said, agreeing with my earlier suggestion. “Though I could also see some Pogrebin ancestry, with all that following Han Solo around.” 

Mary and I laughed, though she a bit more heartily than I. “Remus, that’s hilarious!” she exclaimed. 

He smiled warmly at her, and then turned to me. “I apologize, Lily. I know you’re in the middle of a tutoring session, but I heard _Star Wars_ and had to come right over. I didn’t realize you were fans.” 

“It’s okay! Honestly, I think you’ve helped Mary understand Summoning Charms so much better.” 

“Yes!” Mary agreed, giggling. “So much better.” 

Poor girl. She couldn’t turn off her crush even if she tried. 

“Maybe you could tutor me again some time!” she added. 

Well, she could definitely try a little harder, the traitor! 

Remus, unaware of my gaping, betrayed expression, continued to smile warmly and kindly. “Perhaps,” he allowed. “I’m not sure I have the temperament for teaching.” 

Mary beamed at him. “Of course you do!” 

It went back and forth like that for some time, Remus attempting to throw her off the scent and Mary plunging in headfirst anyway. Eventually he caved, and they set an appointment for next Thursday. Apparently Mary was also struggling in Arithmancy. 

Which was news to me—her actual TUTOR?!—as it was her best subject, but whatever. 

Meanwhile, Marlene, who had been busy scratching away at her second roll of parchment during the entire _Star Wars_ discussion, threw down her quill and in one swift movement jumped up on her feet, and yelled, “YES! I HAVE FINISHED! Take that, Flitwick!” and threw the couch cushion she’d been sitting on across the room at an anticipating Potter, who caught the cushion— _how?_ —and began chanting, “Nana nana, nana nana, hey hey hey, goodbye!” 

In a matter of moments, Black joined in and it was all a ridiculous display with Marlene doing her triumphant, Donna Summer disco arms from across the room until the entire Common Room had become one, loud cacophony of chanting voices. Mary had taken the opportunity to throw an arm around Remus’s waist and join in on the swaying and chanting. Remus, for his part, was a good sport about it and let her. 

After a few rounds of “Na na hey hey kiss him goodbye,” some sixth years had thrown some wadded up bits of parchment at Potter and his friends and got them to shut up. 

If I had known that was all it took, I would have invested in extra rolls of parchment years ago! 

Black and Pettigrew began throwing the offending wads of parchment back at the whinging sixth years, though Potter managed to diffuse the inevitable parchment-wad match between the two groups before it got out of hand. 

Remus glanced back at us and smiled, his eyes crinkling up into two small, brilliant slits. “I enjoyed talking very much. I hope we can all do it again soon!” he said cordially before taking his leave. 

Mary sighed and slumped back down to the floor. “Oh, he’s _so_ dreamy. There’s no way I’m finishing this essay tonight.”

I sighed. Judging by Mary’s revised first sentence— _The Summoning Charm is not at all like the Force in the Muggle Star Wars film_—I would have had a terrible headache if we’d tried to continue.

“Fine,” I conceded. “But tomorrow during your free period, you’re meeting me in the library to finish this thing.” 

Marlene grinned cockily at her misfortune. 

“And I’ll be going over your essay before Potions in the morning so you can revise it during _your_ free period,” I said pointedly. 

Her grin slid from her face like a loose portrait off a wall. 

Mary, still stunned and dreamy from her interaction with a definitely-not-interested Remus, merely smiled absently while rolling up her parchment and putting her books away.

“So you like _Star Wars_?” said a silky voice from behind me. 

I jumped. “Potter! You have _got_ to stop doing that!” 

He smirked. “Are you more of a Luke fan or a Han Solo kind of girl?” he asked, settling precariously onto the arm of my chair. 

I rolled my eyes. This was clearly a trap! “I’d take the Wookie any day,” I deadpanned. 

“Excellent! He’s the bloke with the _mad_ _hair_!” he replied brightly, ruffling his own head of hair suggestively. 

I couldn’t help it. I laughed. 

I laughed _really_ hard. Because he was trying. He was trying and it was so terrible. And it was so terrible it was actually funny. 

I should have known then I was a goner, but I’m exceptionally stubborn. So this time when I told Potter to grow up, it was with a smile and a shake of the head, and he relaxed.


	3. I Guess We Make a Good Team

By the next day, I’d completely forgotten about the Near Death Experience/Wronski Feint Impression/Baby Death Eater Impersonation incident, until I’d gone down to breakfast to see Frank Longbottom pushing copies of his school zine, _The Hogwarts Post_ , at unsuspecting students. 

His face was beaming when he caught sight of me entering the Great Hall, and practically ran over to me, hoisting a copy of the zine into my hands. “Evans! You’ve made the front cover!” he declared, his blue eyes shining with pride. 

I nearly choked as I looked down at the neatly pressed parchment in my grip and saw that a photograph of me, Lily Evans, flying amateur and total klutz extraordinaire, was there on the front page of the _Post_ , riding a broomstick in the midst of the Quidditch pitch. Photograph-me dropped suddenly and quickly from a great height, my dark red hair and black robes billowing behind me before I angled myself at the very last second, pulling away from certain death.

I had to say even I was impressed. The photograph was taken from such a distance that you couldn’t see the expression of sheer terror on my face. If you didn’t know that I was actually almost falling to my death, it genuinely appeared as though I was an incredibly gifted flyer. 

Next to this very impressive photograph was the headline _OPERATION FIRE DRAGON: HOGWARTS CULTIVATES WORLDCLASS FLYING TALENT._  

“And Professor Kettleburn says this exposé could really seal the deal with Operation Fire Dragon!”

I glanced back up to catch him smiling down at me. I stared at him, his dusty brown hair combed back in a fashionable side-part, the faint dimples in his large cheeks, and the way his prominent sideburns grew into a five o’clock shadow. He was one of the most mature-looking students in the school, and could have easily passed for a Hogwarts graduate by fifth year. 

“That’s er—great, Frank,” I answered weakly. 

He placed a grateful hand on my shoulder. “It’s all thanks to you, Evans! I couldn’t have done it without you!” 

“Er, you’re welcome?” I said, but he wasn’t really listening to me anymore. Someone else had caught his attention and he gave my shoulder another appreciative squeeze, flashed me another smile, and went off, a pile of _The Hogwarts Post_ in hand. 

I clenched my fist around my copy and walked stiffly to the Gryffindor table where I could read the article under less pressure. 

Easier said than done, unfortunately. 

A group of Ravenclaws huddled over a copy of the paper walking past gasped in awe. “That’s a wicked Wronski,” said a small, mousy-haired boy. “Who knew our Head Girl was so cool?” 

My eyes widened, and I felt myself blush considerably. 

They thought I was cool? Because of _this?_

Were they suggesting I hadn’t been _‘cool’_ before I’d proven I could master the Wronski Feint Defense?

I was so totally cool without this fake-flying business. 

The actual coolest.

I couldn’t believe they’d thought I wasn’t cool!?! 

“We all knew she was cool, you utter dunderhead,” reproached a familiar voice. 

I grinned. It was but my best matey, Jennifer Till, come to rescue my reputation from the murky depths of miserable Head Girl un-coolness. 

She slid into the bench beside me and began grumbling rather murderously as she snatched my copy of _The Hogwarts Post_ and unfolded it with a dramatic flick of her wrists before I could thank her for her scolding. Jen cleared her throat and began to read:

“‘Operation Fire Dragon, the brainchild of Hogwarts Headmaster Albus Dumbledore, begins its third week of trial amongst Seventh Year Students who hope to gain a favorable grade in order to graduate this year. While Seventh Year Hufflepuff student, Magda Freni, considers the graduation contingency unfair and upsetting, she speaks as part of the minority of students that disagree with the Headmaster’s physical education requirement,’ blah blah blah, something about physical health and magical performance and— _wait for it!_ ” Jen ripped open the paper to the middle pages, her pointer finger dragging through the inky paragraphs until she found her target. 

She frowned and cleared her throat before continuing. “‘Hogwarts may be following in the footsteps of Mahoutokoro, Japan’s School of Magic, and setting the stage for an international cultivation of Quidditch talent,’ blah blah blah—right, here we are! 

“‘Though Head Boy James Potter is renown for his leadership and expertise as Gryffindor Quidditch captain, our own Head Girl has benefited from Operation Fire Dragon’s rigorous training. In just a few short weeks, Lily Evans has been able to master the Wronski Feint Defensive, a throttling nose-dive used by many Quidditch players to thwart opponent chase. Just yesterday, she was able to succeed where Slytherin student Nott failed’—” 

“Oh, _Merlin_!” I cried. “Please tell me Frank didn’t actually write that sentence!” 

Jen gave me a sidelong look. “I couldn’t make this up if I tried, Evans.” 

I buried my face in my hands and groaned.

Wait. 

Why had she called me “Evans”? Was she _throwing a strop at me_? 

I popped my head up and fixed her with a curious glare. “Are you throwing a strop at me, Till?” 

She harrumphed and rolled her eyes at me. “Honestly? Yes, I am.” 

I sat back in shock and gasped. “But _why?_ ” 

“Because this year wasn’t supposed to be the year we both got prematurely blown up by Bellatrix Black and her cronies!” she hissed, throwing a paranoid look over her shoulder. “By Circe, she’s got herself a copy of the _Post_! I suggest we take our breakfast elsewhere.” 

After casually craning my neck in a completely not unnatural way in order to peruse the Slytherin table behind me and then meeting the glowering stares of Bellatrix, Nott, Yaxley, and Mulciber (just to name a few), I decided a quieter breakfast was in order, and quickly followed Jen to the kitchens, where a couple of enthusiastic house elves let us eat at the duplicate of the Gryffindor table. 

(I decided that if I ever wanted to lightly prank someone during a meal, this would be an excellent place to steal the toast off of their plate.) 

Jen went on and on about how I was going to single handedly destroy the peace and focus she needs to earn the ten N.E.W.T.S. required by the Ministry of Magic apprenticeship she’d been working towards her entire life. 

Which is not true because she only found out about this apprenticeship over the summer when she decided that being a Medi-Witch had too much one-on-one contact, and switched her career interest to Wizarding law. Just like we all knew she would. 

But I digress. I let her rant because it usually made her feel better and then we could get back to griping about actually important things like the fact that we had double potions with the Slytherins and were getting assigned new partners that morning. 

“What if I get partnered up with Bellatrix Black?!” I exclaimed, and winced inwardly, hoping that it wouldn’t start her back on the topic of me, Lily Evans, being Jennifer Till’s Biggest Disaster and Life Ruining Influence. 

Instead, Jen blanched. “That would be bad,” she ceded. “But not as bad, probably, as getting stuck with Snape.” 

I hadn’t even thought of that! 

A heavy feeling weighed on my chest at the thought, and the beginnings of an anxiety attack began to bloom from the pit of my stomach to my throat. “You’re right,” I said, attempting to even out my suddenly erratic breathing. “That’s worse.” 

Jen, sensing the sudden anxiety she had thoughtlessly brought on, attempted to change the mood. “Ha! I’ll hex the grease out of his hair before he ruins my perfect N.E.W.T. score!” 

I smiled, grateful to her for trying to cheer me up. 

“What d’you think Bellatrix Black looks like without hair?” she asked, pulling at my sleeve. 

I blinked. “Bald.” 

We stared at each other for a moment before bursting into laughter.

“You’re an idiot, Lily Evans,” Jen laughed, throwing an arm over my shoulder as we made our way out of the kitchens and down toward the dungeons.

“I could have told you that!” called a sunny Marlene from down the corridor. She ran up to us and dug through her messenger bag, draped coolly over one shoulder, and handed me a scroll. “This is for you, Madame Tutor.” 

Her smile was irresistible even when she was teasing me. “You’re impossible,” I replied, taking the essay from her proffered hand. “But thank you. It will save us both a lot of headaches if we stay on schedule.” 

She threw me a wink and a salute before peeling back down the way she came, no doubt to butter up Slughorn for the Potions partner she actually wanted this quarter. It wasn’t news that our Potions Master was easily persuaded to pull some strings for you if you happened to win his favor, but I didn’t think it was all that _noble_ to do so unless you were desperate. 

Clearly, Marlene felt differently. 

And she wasn’t the only one. 

When we arrived, a crowd of students had gathered around Professor Slughorn’s desk at the front of the room. He was grinning, giddy with the attention, undoubtedly savoring every compliment that his growing flock of admirers could think up.

Upon catching my eye, his grin widened and he waved me over. “Miss Evans! Please join us! We are having the most interesting of debates!” 

Debate? 

“We are discussing the effects of salt-based potions on soil chemistry.” 

Perhaps I had misjudged my classmates. I made my way over to him. “Oh?” 

“Yes, yes, it’s very interesting. Mister Potter is convinced that we should limit the amount of salt-based potions we use outdoors, as it has adverse effects on the soil,” Slughorn said, giggling.

I glanced over to see that Potter was indeed there, poring over a giant, dusty book that appeared to be as old as Hogwarts itself. 

Potter looked up and pushed his glasses up on his nose. “Salty soil becomes a hostile environment for most living organisms. Whatever’s growing in it dies,” he explained. 

“Except for some species of murkwood,” drawled a low voice. Before I could stop myself, I followed it to the sallow, hook-nosed face of my ex-best friend, Severus Snape. 

His black eyes locked with mine for the briefest of seconds, but I blinked down at my hands as that heavy feeling pressed down on my chest, and I had to concentrate very hard on my breaths before it passed. 

“In fact, those species of murkwood _require_ the salinity that salt-based potions would provide, and thrive in such instances,” Snape continued. His voice dragged monotonously as though bored, but I knew he was just nervous speaking in front of so many people. “If we limit our use of these potions for the sake of _most_ living organisms, we also condemn one of the most useful ingredients to extinction.” 

“Well said, Severus!” Professor Slughorn cheered, clapping his hands. “Mister Potter?”

Potter drew himself up to his full height and turned to stare Snape down. Snape didn’t flinch. “So you would destroy whole environment for the sake of _one_ plant that could easily acquire the salt it needs in its natural environment by the sea?” 

Snape didn’t answer, merely kept a cool, detached gaze on him.

Encouraged, Potter went on. “To allow the use of salt-based potions in environments other than the seaside does nothing but condone destruction to the soil’s ecology and invite non-native magical species to invade!” 

Before Slughorn could burst into applause—which he looked very near the brink of doing—Snape curled his lip into a snarl. “And what, Potter, would you propose to use as a substitution for salt, if one had to use such a potion in a place _other_ than the seaside?”

The class had gone eerily quiet as everyone turned to stare at Potter, whose earlier bravado had begun to falter under the pressure to figure out quantum alchemy with little to no knowledge of the subject. 

It was meant to be a rhetorical question—a checkmate for Snape—but I had actually read about this in some Potions journals over the summer. 

“Eggshell powder,” I answered. “Any kind of avian eggshell should do.” 

Suddenly, everyone’s eyes were on me, and I nearly shrank back at the intensity of the attention. 

I mean, _really_. What were they staring at??? 

Slughorn raised an eyebrow at me and smiled. “Really?” he asked. 

I nodded. “I believe so, Professor. If we _must_ use a salt-based potion with a salt substitution, eggshell powder should work, and as an organic waste product, should be of no harm to the soil.” 

I glanced over at Potter, who appeared as though someone had just hit him over the head with something very heavy, and then to Snape, who hid a faint scowl beneath a façade of indifference. 

“Interesting! So very interesting! What do you think, Severus?” asked a jovial Slughorn. 

Snape clenched his jaw. “I think, Sir, that our Head Girl has a very colorful imagination.” 

My jaw dropped. “Well _I_ think, _Sir_ , that my opponent has a difficult time thinking creatively!” I rebutted hotly. 

“I don’t doubt your understanding of alchemical mechanics, Evans,” Snape retorted, “but I _do_ doubt whether you are familiar with a particular wizarding _history_ that confirms your theory would never work in practice.” 

I nearly combusted right there. 

He might as well have called out my Muggle-born heritage—called me that dreaded, hateful word— _Mudblood_.

“I’ll take that bet,” said one, James Potter, Instigator of Every Conflict Known to Wizardkind. 

“Excellent idea, Mister Potter!” exclaimed Slughorn, who was probably just relieved that someone had stopped his two favorite students from hexing each other in the middle of the dungeon. “I was going to assign an essay on the properties of bowtruckles, but why not do something a bit more exciting? Let’s run an experiment!” 

At our lack of excitement at the idea, Slughorn decided to up the ante. “Winners are excused from homework this week!” 

“Alright!” shouted Sirius Black. He and Pettigrew high-fived. 

“Now, since your schoolwork is on the line, you will choose which side you’re on: Miss Evans suggests that substituting eggshell powder for salt in a salt-based potion is theoretically possible while Mister Snape maintains it is not.” Slughorn beamed and clapped his hands. “So, both will be brewing an identical potion, with one exception: Miss Evans will use eggshell powder, and Mister Snape will use salt. If Miss Evan’s potion works, she wins. If it doesn’t, Mister Snape wins. Class, choose your victors.” 

Potter made a beeline towards me. “Blimey, Evans. You’d better be right about this.” 

The class divided itself almost neatly between houses. Most Slytherins were on Snape’s side, and most Gryffindors were on mine. 

“Don’t muck this up, Lily,” Mary said, writing her name down on the piece of parchment Slughorn had given my team in order to record their allegiance. 

“She won’t,” responded Remus, who plucked a quill from behind Black’s ear and wrote his name with a flourish below Mary’s. “I’d thought of eggshell powder, too, but I don’t like talking in front of so many people.”

Black snatched his quill from Remus’s hand and scribbled his name on the piece of parchment. “They don’t deserve to hear you and your batty thoughts, anyway, Moony.” 

“I just hope I can get some relief on homework,” mumbled Pettigrew. “Kettleburn is killing me with all the field reports we have to do each week.” 

“Ah, no worries, mate,” said Potter. “If Evans here loses, I’ll let you do my homework, too!” 

Pettigrew threw a wry glare at him. “Cheers, Prongs. Knew I could always count on you.”

Slughorn assigned us Pepper-Up Potions, to which Potter silently hooted, as apparently his ancestor had something to do with its invention. When I presented to him nothing akin to understanding, he smiled shyly and said, “It’s a good sign, Evans. Promise.” 

With all the opposition I had across the room, blatantly glaring at me and smirking evilly, I could use whatever good signs Potter divined.

We divided the labor among the team as equally as we could. Jen teamed up with a pair of Slytherins that had chosen my side to write the lab report. Mary, Marlene, and Pettigrew were responsible for prepping the ingredients. Remus and I were to calculate the alchemical properties of eggshell powder in combination with the rest of the ingredients in the potion, and make adjustments where necessary. Black was our messenger, running back information between groups, and Potter fell easily into the roles of coach and manager, keeping us on task and on target. 

Twenty minutes later, Remus and I had figured out the exact proportions of mandrake root to peppermint leaves. Remus retreated to Black’s side, leaving Potter and me to actually brew the potion. 

Mary had sifted the eggshell powder to fine granules, which Potter stirred counterclockwise into our base mix. I held my breath, as this was the moment of truth. If our calculations had been correct, the potion would turn from crimson to a bright orange. 

Nothing happened. 

“Crap,” I muttered. 

“What’s wrong?” asked Potter, peering over at the open textbook and the hasty notes in Remus’s scrawl beside it.

“It’s still blood red!” I whispered, trying not to alarm the rest of the team. 

Potter frowned. “It _should_ be working. I’ve done everything Remus instructed—by the way, how did you figure that the potion should simmer at the same temperature as the original?” 

A jolt of realization went through me as it dawned on me that neither Remus nor I had actually factored in the base temperature for our new calculations. 

“ _Double crap!_ ” I hissed. I seized Remus’s notes and skimmed over them, did some quick calculations in my head, and immediately turned up the heat beneath our cauldron. 

“Careful now,” warned Potter, as he continued to stir the potion counterclockwise. We both peered over the cauldron with bated breath. 

We watched as the deep red hue of the potion began to give way to a glowing auburn. I practically tackled Potter in a celebratory side-hug. “Yes!” I cried. “We did it!” 

Potter, whose glasses had gone askew when I had attacked him, elegantly fixed them upon his nose and beamed. “ _You_ did it.” 

The way he’d said it carried so much warmth that it filled me up where I hadn’t known I was empty. I beamed back up at him, catching his laughing eyes with mine, and feeling compelled to hug him again. 

I didn’t, though, because Remus came over and said, “Quick! Add the peppermint leaves!” 

“AH! The peppermint leaves!” 

I’d almost forgotten the most important ingredient of the Pepper-Up Potion! 

Because I’d wanted to hug Potter?!?! 

Potter? 

The bloke that tried to use a _Star Wars_ pick-up line on me just the night before? 

Ha. 

Clearly there was more than just eggshell powder in the air. 

I shook off the urge to run into the potions cupboard in embarrassment, and braved the ensuing silence as I dropped the peppermint leaves into our outrageously orange potion. At this stage, we had to turn down the heat and leave the potion to simmer for ten minutes, at which time the resulting draught should crackle and pop at the surface. (Note: This is not the same as boiling. It’s literally magic.) 

After we were satisfied that the lower temperature was right for the proportion of ingredients we were using, Potter and I set a timer for ten minutes and sat back down with our respective groups of friends. 

Jen introduced me to the Slytherins with whom she’d been working: Abed Cassimi and Harriet Seabury. 

They were both Muggle-borns and outcasts in their own houses. So obviously, they were the best of friends. 

“How come I didn’t know this before?” I asked. 

Abed shrugged, his lanky form all but disappearing beneath his long school robes. “You were Snape’s friend,” he responded by way of explanation. 

Harriet’s expression was sheepish. “He wasn’t the most civil towards us.” 

I glanced over at Severus, who was already bottling a vial of Pepper-Up Potion. It was a piercing orange color. 

I sighed and slouched into my chair. “I’m really sorry about that. If it helps, he wasn’t the most civil towards me, either. In the end.” 

Abed nodded, but he didn’t say anything else. 

“So,” started Marlene. I could tell immediately by the tone of her voice where this was going. I tried to stop her with a glare, but she went there anyway. “What was it like? Arms around Potter, smiling dreamily into each other’s eyes?” 

“Oh, go sod yourself,” I grumbled, crossing my arms over my chest. 

She and the rest of the group laughed, Marlene hardest and loudest of all. 

“I do hope your potion lives up to the confidence with which you are enjoying yourselves,” rang Slughorn’s voice through our laughter. 

“Of course, Sir,” returned Potter. “Although, even if it doesn’t, better to enjoy ourselves now that we have the chance, eh?” 

Slughorn chuckled. “Quite right, Potter.” 

Potter lounged easily in his chair, smiling cheerfully without a care in the world. If it was only an essay on bowtruckles that was on the line, I didn’t see why any of us would be so worried, so I didn’t begrudge anyone of us our ten minutes of reprieve before the Actual Moment of Truth. 

Our timer went off exactly when our potion began to crackle and pop with a sparkling ferocity. I held out a vial to Potter as he ladled in a sample of our potion. It was an electric shade of orange. We grinned at each other and held it out to our team. They applauded, Black and Pettigrew hooting and cheering. 

However correct it all appeared, we would not know whether or not it was in working order until Slughorn performed various tests on the potion. 

“Alright, everyone, settle down,” called our professor as he held up two vials of orange liquid. “In my hands I hold two Pepper-Up potions. Anyone care to tell me what will happen to them if I add toadstool?” 

Remus whispered something into Potter’s ear and Potter’s hand shot up.

So did Snape’s. 

Slughorn called on Snape first. “It will turn a murky blue color,” he said. 

“And?” When Snape did not immediately respond, he called, “Potter?” 

Potter frowned, apparently lost. “Erm—it’ll taste very bad, Sir. And not be very useful as a Pepper-Up Potion, I imagine.” 

“Exactly.” Slughorn winked at him. 

Potter let out a breath, relieved. 

Snape scowled, and Bellatrix glared in my direction. 

I felt myself sink lower into my seat in sudden panic. If Snape’s team lost, that would just be another reason for all of them to hate me. 

And possibly plot my murder. 

“Now what would happen if I cast a Scourging Spell on the potion?” he asked. 

Oh, Slughorn. Asking basic alchemical theory questions. 

Abed raised his hand. “Sir, you would Scourge the Potion of all perceived decay. In this case, all deteriorating organic matter, which would leave you with a base mix of molten crystals.” 

“And what color would that be, Cassimi?” Slughorn asked. 

“Since our base is made of rose quartz, I’d say pink, Sir.” 

Slughorn smiled. “Correct.” 

“Now let’s see. Of the two methods I have described, which would be best to test the potion?” 

The class erupted in a near five-minute debate at this question, until finally, Remus tentatively put his hand into the air.

“Mister Lupin?” said Slughorn calmly and with a smile. “Which of the two is the best test?” 

Remus’s eyes flit back and forth across the sea of classmates in the room. He finally fixed his gaze on Slughorn’s hands. “Neither, sir,” he answered. 

Slughorn’s smile grew wider. “Then how shall we test the potions against each other?” 

“Moonwort, Sir.”

Moonwort? 

_Moonwort?????_

_What??!?!?!!?!!!?_  

The whole class fell into a mystified silence as we contemplated exactly what Remus was getting at. 

Slughorn was practically hopping with giddiness. “And why moonwort, Mister Lupin?” 

“Moonwort has been known to bloom in immediate response to a perfectly brewed Pepper-Up Potion, which produces effects similar to that of a full moon.” Remus could hardly bring himself to look away from the potions vials, though I was attempting desperately to make eye contact with him. 

His shoulders shifted visibly beneath his thin robes. 

“And what happens if an imperfectly brewed Pepper-Up Potion is applied to moonwort, Mister Lupin?” 

Finally, he looked up and met Slughorn’s steady gaze. “It dies, Sir.” 

“Ten points to Gryffindor,” replied Slughorn, grinning toothily. 

“As it so happens, Professor Glade is growing moonwort. Why don’t we go out to the greenhouses and ask for a few sprouts?” 

I didn’t think any of us could take the anticipation any longer. 

I just wanted to know if I could plan on taking a nap sometime this week or not. That’s it. That’s all I cared about anymore. 

Well that and not getting murdered. 

That was a thing I would definitely like to avoid. 

When we’d made it to the greenhouses and Professor Slughorn had talked Professor Glade into giving us two specimens of moonwort, she had wanted to participate, and so she and Slughorn each had a vial of Pepper-Up Potion in hand, ready to pour it on the unsuspecting pots of moonwort. 

“Bottoms up!” exclaimed Professor Slughorn, and he and Professor Glade poured bubbling cascades of bright orange liquid onto the dark and thorny brambles of moonwort. 

Then, slowly, the plant in Professor Slughorn’s pot began to open up one of its blossoms. Its petals were a gorgeous opal color, glistening like nebulas in the sunlight. I imagined it must be more beautiful under the light of the moon. 

“Congratulations, Mister Snape,” said Slughorn. 

I pouted and stared woefully at the remaining, unmoving moonwort. 

Oh great. I’d killed it! 

Perhaps I deserved whatever murder Bellatrix had planned for me after all. 

Slughorn sighed. “It was a very good effort, Miss Evans,” he praised. 

Which was just a polite way of saying, _YOU FAILED_! 

I couldn’t bring myself to look at Snape, but I knew he must look very pleased with himself, proving me wrong in such a public way. I heard Bellatrix cackle maliciously as she mumbled, “Serves her right, the little wretch.” 

I clenched my fist around my wand in my robe’s pocket and squeezed my eyes shut against the pounding anger in my ears. If I concentrated hard enough, _I wouldn’t cry_. 

Jen clapped her hand on my shoulder. “Don’t listen to her, Lily. She’s a bully.” 

I turned to face her and was about to tell her that it wasn’t just about Bellatrix; it was about proving that Muggle-borns _could_ change the face of magic, that Muggle-borns deserved to be here, that _I deserved to be here._  

But Pettigrew drew me away from my thoughts. “Professor, look!” he exclaimed. 

Steam began to rise from the moonwort in Professor Glade’s pot. We all gasped collectively and leaned in to watch it magically unfurl its opalescent petals and glitter in the light. Then, quite unexpectedly, another blossom grew on the stalk next to it and bloomed in the same dramatic, sparkling manner. Two other blossoms grew and bloomed in the pot, far surpassing our expectations. 

I looked up at Slughorn. He was utterly gobsmacked. “Professor?” 

He was gaping as he turned to me. He grabbed my hand in his and said, “You’ve done it, Miss Evans! Well done!” 

I was stunned. 

I had done it! I was a superstar! 

I was now and forevermore known as Potions Mistress Lily Evans, Environmentalist and Quantum Alchemist. 

Slughorn proceeded to individually congratulate everyone on my team. Grinning happily, he assigned the losing team a three-foot essay on the alchemical mechanics of eggshell powder. 

I offered the journals I’d read to anyone who was interested, but no one took me up on the offer. No matter. I was quite contented, having proved Snape and his Pureblood-supremacist friends wrong about my merits as a Muggle-born. 

Potter high-fived everyone on our team with great fervor, but when he got to me, his hand faltered and he dropped it to his side. 

Talk about awkward. 

To lighten the mood, I sheepishly said, “We would have totally failed if you hadn’t caught our oversight with the base temperature.” 

He ran a hand through his jet black hair and laughed nervously. “Well, I wouldn’t have been able to calculate it as quickly as you did.” 

“I guess we make a good team.” 

“Yeah,” he agreed. He lifted his hand in the air again, and I high-fived it. He smiled. “We do.” 

Jen pulled me away and back towards the dungeons with the rest of the class to collect our belongings. “So. That was pretty civil of you.”

I stared at her, bewildered. “What was?”

“You, complimenting James.” She smirked.

I rolled my eyes. “We have to work together all year,” I said. “It only makes sense to keep the peace.” 

“So it’s just convenient to be civil to him?” 

“Exactly,” I answered. I felt a twinge of guilt as I recalled that moment over the cauldron when our potion had turned that telltale orange. But whatever, she didn’t need to know that I _wanted to hug Potter_. 

As we entered the castle doors, someone shoved into me so hard that I was sent sprawling on the flagstone floors. I looked up just in time to see Bellatrix Black grinning maniacally ahead of me. For the second time in two days, she dragged her wand across her throat threateningly. I couldn’t miss her meaning. 

Marlene helped me back up on my feet. “Rotten luck, mate,” she said.

Yeah. 

Bellatrix Black was going to kill me.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There's a metaphor in there somewhere, I swear.


	4. Captain Safety First

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ah, so sorry for the late update! Finals week got me. I'm a shell of my former self, and yet I still stand. Anyway, please enjoy the little bit of James/Lily fluff up ahead. :)

I'd taken my free period in the library with Mary and Marlene to make sure they worked on their Charms essays while I read ahead for N.E.W.T.-level Defense Against the Dark Arts.

At least, that was the plan, but all I could think about was Bellatrix Black and her continued threats. It wasn't the first time I'd ever crossed her, but it _was_ the first time she had ever been so openly menacing. I didn't understand it.

I should report it, but I didn't really know what to say. It was such an abstract problem, and the usual solution for such a thing involved peer mediation.

I didn't fancy pulling another student into the whole mess when they would inevitably end up on Bellatrix's hit list.

Because I was sure she had one of those—she was just mental enough.

" _Lilyyyyyy_ ," whined a very agitated Mary from across the large wooden table we occupied in a sunlit corner of the library. "I just don't _care_ about this right now. Can't I finish it later?"

I threw her a stern look. "No."

"But _Lilyyyyyy_." Mary took great pleasure in elongating the last syllable of my name, but was too exasperated for her own good.

Madame Pince came tottering over just to hiss a dramatic "Shhh!" at us. She then perched herself over a cart of books to return to a nearby shelf.

I rolled my eyes at Mary. "Nice going," I mouthed at her.

She frowned and glumly set back to work.

I was just about to re-read the same paragraph for the third time when Marlene pushed her second draft under my nose, shaking the parchment for emphasis. I glanced up at her toothy grin, and having caught my attention, she relaxed into the wooden chair she occupied.

I couldn't find anything wrong with her essay other than a few misplaced possessive apostrophes, so, after correcting those, I slid it back in her direction. Only, because I am still Lily Evans, Klutz Extraordinaire and Harbinger of Doom, it slid off the edge of the table and across the flagstone floors, skidding to a halt at a pair of well-worn shoes that jutted out from behind a bookshelf.

Marlene sent a scowl my way and she made to get up and retrieve her essay, but I'd already gone after it in a state of embarrassed panic.

"Agrippa's sake," I grumbled under my breath as I mentally chastised myself.

_You can wrangle yourself out of falling to your death from midair, but you can't even aim a single sheet of parchment to land a foot away from you. You are absolutely the picture of elegance._

Just as I came upon Marlene's essay, long, manicured fingers reached down and seized the parchment from the ground.

"Pardon, but I think you'll find that—" I cut myself off in shock, and my eyes went wide.

Bellatrix Black stood smirking in front of me, holding Marlene's essay high over her head.

Buggeration.

"Well, well, well. If it isn't Madame _Mudblood_ ," she sneered. She retreated between the bookshelves and I had no choice but to follow her, glancing anxiously up at Marlene's essay, which she held aloft at least a foot and a half above my head.

I crossed my arms over my chest defensively. "That's Head Girl to you," I corrected haughtily.

"Oh yes, of course. _Forgive me!"_ she laughed derisively. "I'd forgotten I was in the presence of greatness." Her voice dripped with sarcasm and contempt.

I narrowed my eyes at her. "Just give me the parchment, Black, or I'll—"

Her cackle interrupted whatever threat was going to spill from my lips. "Or you'll _what_ , Mudblood? Take House points? Assign me detention, then take it back?" Her eyes glittered between hatred and mirth.

"You're welcome for that, by the way," I shot back, angrily.

"Oh, please!" Her voice was sharp. "Don't pretend you did me any favors, Mudblood. We both know you were just saving yourself."

"Five points from Slytherin," I muttered, jutting out my jaw in challenge.

Bellatrix smiled slowly, her eyes wild and piercing beneath stray, black curls of fringe. She leaned towards me until she was only a few inches away from my face. I tried not to flinch. "That's all the power you'll ever hold over me, Mudblood," she said, her voice a steely knife, cold and cutting.

She held my gaze for an intense, yet uncomfortable length of time, smiling viciously, her teeth pointy enough to cause some serious damage if she ever decided to bite me. I clenched my jaw, determined not to let her faze me. Then, quite abruptly, she pulled back and let out a high-pitched cackle that cut through the air and sent a chill to my bones.

"Shhh!" called an unmistakable Madame Pince from beyond the bookshelf.

Bellatrix smirked at me and lowered her voice. "Watch yourself, _Head Girl_. You won't always have the _filthy_ , _backwards_ , _Mudblood-loving_ walls of Hogwarts to protect you." She punctuated each adjective with a terrible, curling snarl. "I'll see you on the Quidditch pitch."

She gave one last, foreboding smile before dropping Marlene's essay and disappearing through the back aisle of the library. I hurriedly picked it up and made out of the bookshelves as quickly as I could, lest I run into Nott or Mulciber between the spines.

Though, I didn't think I'd ever seen either Slytherin in the library before, so I quickly put the thought of my head as I practically ran towards Marlene.

I hardly had time to process my encounter with Bellatrix, however, as Marlene was doing her Donna Summer disco arms and Mary had her whole fist stuffed into her mouth to keep from laughing and alerting Madame Pince to them once more.

I came up behind Marlene, doffed her on the back of the head with her essay, and then dropped it back onto the table in front of her as I walked to my seat. She hadn't stopped her disco arms, only waved them in my direction with a waggle of her eyebrows, a shit-eating grin gracing her features.

At that, Mary let out a squeal of laughter, which she quickly disguised as a sneeze. Madame Pince's head peered out from behind a bookshelf and she glared at her, but said nothing.

It was enough to sober Mary, however, and Marlene began skimming her essay for corrections. Smiling, she stuffed the Essay of Eternal Disaster in her satchel, and abandoned all her studies to sit next to me.

She grabbed a spare bit of parchment from my notes and scribbled the following:

_Mary and I are going to play Hippogriff on the pitch tomorrow. We need a third player. You in?_

I stared at the note in shock.

Absolute shock.

Firstly, what in good Godric's name was Hippogriff?

And secondly, if this were a game one played on a broomstick, I would inevitably die. There was no doubt in my mind about it.

I wasn't even playing a game when I had almost died the day before!

But how was I supposed to admit that to her?

I snatched the quill from her hands and wrote back:

_Sounds fun! But you'll have to teach me how to play._

She grasped my wrist as though to apologize for having assumed that I would have known the game.

_We can go out to the pitch tonight and practice!_

I frowned.

_How?_

She grinned.

_After Quidditch practice, the pitch will be empty for a few hours before curfew._

I raised an eyebrow.

_I would have thought Potter would work you for as long as he has you._

She shook her head.

_Potter runs really efficient practices. Intense and grueling, but efficient._

Then, catching onto our note passing, Mary pulled the parchment from between us, perused its contents, with a frown, and determinedly wrote something on it before handing it back to us to read.

_If you're going to teach Lily Hippogriff tonight, I highly advise a Warming Charm. It'll be brass monkeys out. Also, I think I've finished my essay, but it's also possible I care the least amount about it._

I rolled my eyes and went back to tutoring her. She finally understood the limits of the Summoning Charm, and I had to pat myself on the back for having drawn out the diagram that led to her conclusions.

Head Girl duties were piling on this year, but I was determined to see them through. No matter what Bellatrix and all her lot thought, I had earned this, and I would succeed. Nothing could stop me.

Except maybe Hippogriff.

After dinner, a few hours before curfew, I'd made my way down to the Quidditch pitch in the lightest robes I could find and cast a Warming Charm over them so that I wouldn't freeze to death in the autumn evening air. Potter was still running his practice, so I went over to the broom shed and picked out a brand new Cleansweep broom, which had been donated to the school by someone seeking favor with the Headmaster, probably.

I climbed the wooden steps up to the stands and sat uncomfortably on the cold, rigid seats, watching as various blurs of scarlet and gold flew past me, maneuvering their brooms in ways I could only dream of doing myself.

It wasn't fair. Flying was the only thing that didn't come naturally to me, and I couldn't even blame the fact that I was a Muggleborn on it. It was like Mary and essay-writing, no amount of magic would ever improve the skill—it was all to do with practice.

However, as I am truly awful at flying, I was always too embarrassed to practice. Every year, we had a flying proficiency exam, and we only had to pass it to move on to our next year of courses.

It consisted of flying through magical hoops midair, and each year got a bit more complex. Needless to say, I would nearly always have to run the course at least three times before I got a passing mark.

And now, I was being forced to pretend I had suddenly, miraculously improved just because I hadn't been honest and tried to take credit for being a comedic genius and in-house Winged Wronksi Warrior.

Stupid, stupid Lily.

Potter blew his whistle and all the blurs halted and turned into people. Marlene held her Beater's bat aloft, ready to strike a nearing Bludger. She did, and it went careening through the air.

"Oi! McKinnon!" Potter shouted, and he threw a spell after the Bludger. It froze in midair. "Safety first!"

Safety first?

Since _when?!_

Marlene waved him off, apparently unconcerned over the safety of others. Didn't surprise me, honestly. "Why'd you stop the play, anyway, eh?" she asked. "We were just about to nail it!"

Potter scoffed. "Really? Because from what I saw, your formation was about as together as Flitwick's first-year toad choir."

I snorted. Flitwick's first-year toad choir was the _worst_ , but we couldn't actually say so, only clap politely when whatever miserable song set they'd just performed had finally, mercifully ended.

Potter's head snapped in my direction, and an easy smile broke out over his face. "Right, let's run it again," he said to his teammates, who all groaned impatiently.

Marlene pumped her beater's bat through the air as Potter blew his whistle once again. All the players flew into position once more. Sirius Black spelled the Bludgers back into action, and whacked one towards Marlene. Between them, Potter and two other Chasers wove through the air like one large, spiraling machine headed straight for the goal posts. Just as they got there, Potter threw the Quaffle behind him to a fifth year girl, Nadiya Shah, who swooped down, presumably to thwart any opposing Chasers.

She rolled through the air in impressive loops towards the middle of the pitch, her hijab ballooning out behind her. I watched her, transfixed, as she continued to weave through Bludgers and elegantly barrel roll with nary a wobble. Then, I realized she no longer held the Quaffle!

She was only a distraction!

Baffled, I looked back towards the end of the pitch just in time to watch as Okosta Chinua, a very promising third year Chaser, scored a goal literally out of nowhere.

So naturally, I did what I had been conditioned to do for the last seven years of my life. I stood up and cheered my head off.

"Whoo! That was amazing!" I screamed. "GO, GO, GRYFFINDOR! Yeah!"

I didn't even notice I was alone. I was just that blown away by the play.

Potter flew over to me, a hand in his windblown hair, cocky as ever. "Thought that might impress you, Evans."

"It was AMAZING!" I gushed.

I couldn't even bother with banter or embarrassment; I was too impressed to care that he knew I _was_ impressed. Hell, I _wanted_ him to know I was impressed—that play they all just pulled off was bloody impressive!

"First you had the Quaffle, and you were all speeding bullets to the goalposts— _and then you weren't!_ —and Nadiya was this _incredible_ distraction, and then suddenly and inexplicably Okosta scores, like he's had the Quaffle up his sleeve the entire time or something, and I don't even remember my own name!"

He chuckled. "It's Lily. Your name is Lily." His eyes laughed at me from behind his glasses and there it was again. That look. That look that filled me up and made me all warm inside.

Marlene flew over and hovered just behind him. "Oi, Captain, if you're done chatting up your girlfriend"—I stuck my tongue out at her rudely—"I think we'd better have another go at it. I accidentally nicked Sirius—"

" _Nicked_ me?! You chucked the bloody thing straight into my stomach, McKinnon!" yelled an angry Black, coming up one-handed beside her. His other arm was clutching at his stomach, Beater's bat hanging loosely from his hand, his whole face scrunched up in discomfort.

Marlene rolled her eyes. "Captain, straighten him out, will you? He's being a _such_ a diva."

And then, for reasons unknown to me in that instant, Potter lifted his arms and began to do Donna Summer's disco arms. "Tell him yourself, McKinnon. We've got another play to run."

Marlene let out a howl of laughter so loud that it reverberated across the pitch. She joined Potter in on his disco arms as they flew back to the middle of the pitch.

WITH NO HANDS.

THEIR ARMS WERE BUSY DOING DISCO ARMS AND THEY COULD STILL FLY?!

_**HOW?!** _

Black stared after them and sulked. "Prats," he muttered. He straightened up and mirrored Marlene from across the pitch as though nothing had ever breached his middle.

Wow. Marlene was right. He _was_ being a diva.

They ran through a few more equally impressive plays, and I couldn't help but cheer when they succeeded. Another half an hour later, Potter finally called the end of practice.

The Gryffindor Quidditch team descended onto the pitch and collectively headed towards the showers. Except for Black and Marlene, who simply disembarked their brooms one by one in the stands I occupied.

"What's this about you and McKinnon playing Hippogriff tomorrow?" Black asked, lying down on a bench in front of me. He stretched out his limbs and I heard more than one joint crack.

My own spine began to feel stiff from all the sitting up straight I'd been doing that day so I stood up and began stretching. "She wants to play and I don't know how, so she's going to teach me tonight. That is, if you're still up for it, Marley."

Marlene laid herself out on the bench opposite Black's, stretching her own limbs and sighing deeply. "Honestly, Lily, I'm absolutely knackered. I know I've made you come out here and miss valuable N.E.W.T. studying time and everything, but I think I may have underestimated how hard James was going to make us run those plays tonight."

"Yeah, love the bloke, but it _was_ a bit excessive," Black agreed.

Potter appeared and descended his broom, snorting. "Says the diva."

We all laughed at Sirius as he scowled back at us.

Finally, Potter turned to me, a smirk playing lightly on his lips. "So, to what do we owe the pleasure of your audience this evening?"

Black answered before I could even open my mouth. "McKinnon's'posed to be teaching her Hippogriff, but since you've gone and killed us all during practice, Evans will be attending our funerals instead."

Marlene rolled onto her side to face me and added, "Lily, I'd really like it if you could get Flitwick's toad choir to sing some Donna Summer at mine. And see to it that you feed Freddy Mercury, eh?"

"Any last requests or wishes from you, Padfoot?" asked James wryly. He must be used to these two taking the piss out of him.

"Remember me," Black replied, placing a hand dramatically over his face. "Remember me as I was before tonight, Prongs: a spry young lad with the most wonderfully fucked up home life." He sat up and cracked a smile. "And see to it that you feed Moony, eh?"

I was stunned, but Potter and Marlene just rolled their eyes and laughed. Potter caught my uneasy gaze, however, and changed the subject. "Seems you've been jilted, Evans."

"Oh, come off it already, mate!" cried Marlene. "I already feel terrible enough."

"It's okay, really. I understand. We've all had long days," I said.

"Well, if McKinnon is too tired, I wouldn't mind teaching you how to play Hippogriff." Potter's eyes locked on mine and froze me to the spot.

I didn't know how to respond.

Potter? Teach me how to play Hippogriff?

All on our own in the middle of the Quidditch pitch?

_At night?_

It was a _terrible_ idea.

"That's an excellent idea, Captain!" said Marlene, perking right up. She got up from her bench and picked up her broom, walking to the end of the row and towards the stairs. "Now I don't feel half as bad for wasting your time, Lils."

"Oh, you didn't waste my time—" I called after her, finally breaking free of Potter's gaze.

"Do you really mean you _meant_ to spend an hour and a half of your evening watching what must have been the most doldrums repeat of the same three plays _over and over again_ , when you could have gotten started on the Defense Against the Dark Arts project that Leon's assigned us?" interrupted Potter.

I brushed him off, attempting to play it cool. "I thought I'd use the time meant for our Potions essay on something a bit more _recreational_."

He lifted a single brow in amusement. "Oh, really?"

"Yes, really."

"Lucky we got out of that."

"So lucky."

While Potter and I had been discussing the finer details regarding my time management (read: flirting? _Maybe?!_ ), Black and Marlene had exited the stands in a flurry of arm waving and hooting. The pair worked beautifully in the air together, with a sharp focus that allowed them to anticipate each other's moves. On the ground, however, their energy was a bit more chaotic and unpredictable. We could hear them arguing and attacking each other all the way back to the castle.

Potter dropped onto a bench, laughing lightly, his perfect posture drooping somewhat as he balanced his chin in his hands and his elbows on his knees.

A silence fell over us like a soft blanket. I walked over to the Cleansweep I'd left leaning against the banister and picked it up. It was meant to be a gesture of, "Well, better get going," but instead, Potter looked up and flashed me a grin.

It almost knocked me out.

It was just so unexpected!

Where does he get off, grinning like that without warning? It's no way to treat unsuspecting, anxiety-prone people!

I needed to get out of here IMMEDIATELY. I coughed in the back of my throat and was about to say I'd see him later, but his eyes were laughing at me behind his glasses again and I was done for.

"So what changed your mind?" he asked.

I settled the Cleansweep against the banister again. "Sorry?"

He gestured to the broom. "About flying."

Oh, thank Merlin. I almost thought he'd caught on to the whole I-got-knocked-out-by-your-pearly-whites thing.

"What do you mean?" I said, trying to be coy.

"I mean, two weeks ago in Dumbledore's office, you practically went catatonic when he said we'd be doing flying periods twice a week. Then, yesterday, you're hitting the Wronski Defensive Feint harder than anyone I've ever seen." His eyes were twinkling behind his glasses like he just knew. He knew everything but he didn't want to outright accuse me of anything.

He ruffled his hair a bit and waited for me to answer.

I tried to come up with anything to save myself, but my imagination had picked that exact moment to go on vacation. Instead, I blurted, "I'm living a lie and I can't do it anymore!"

His brows furrowed, but the corners of his lips quirked, as though he were trying very hard not to smile. "What _are_ you on about?"

"I'm absolute rubbish at flying."

Oh my GODRIC. I couldn't stop spilling the magic beans! It was as though I'd been given Veritaserum or something!

"Every time I get on a broom, I am fully praying I won't fall to my death. But that's exactly what happened yesterday, and the only reason I'm still alive is because I figured out how to steer my broom a whole second before I became two-dimensional."

Potter laughed.

"It's not funny!" I whined.

He just laughed harder.

I glared at him. "Oh yes, it's _hilarious_. I almost die, and instead of being humiliated, I get praised for doing a perfect impression of Nott, whose entire Slytherin army is now out to get me! And I can't even _fly!"_

"You really can't see the humor in that at all?" he said through a laugh.

I buried my face in my hands. "Ugh. Why am I even telling you this? You clearly have no sense of empathy."

Suddenly, there was a hand on my shoulder. Potter chuckled beside me. "Evans, relax."

I _would_ relax, but his hand was on my shoulder and it was very hard to be aware of literally anything else. Including my breathing.

"So you pretended you were an excellent flyer when your flying skills are actually below the mark—it's not the end of the world, is it?" Potter asked. I knew he meant to comfort me, but I just felt worse.

"Bellatrix Black is going to kill me on this very pitch in just a few short hours," I moaned.

He patted me on the back. "Any pets you'll need me to feed?"

He asked me this so seriously that I began to laugh. I peered up at him through slatted fingers and caught his easy grin.

"That's better," Potter said. He removed his hand from my person and walked over to pick up my Cleansweep. "I reckon we should get you on a broom as soon as possible."

"Potter, have you suffered from short-term memory loss or did you go temporarily deaf? I can't fly!"

He gave me a look that stopped short of rolling his eyes. "You can. And with some practice, you'll get better."

I chewed the inside of my cheek and stared at him warily. "That's just a theory."

He grinned. "Come on, Evans," he said, holding up the broom to me. "Or would you prefer I Transfigure you into a pancake now, so as to avoid you turning into one in front of Black tomorrow?"

I blew the fringe away from my forehead and narrowed my eyes at him. "Oh, aren't you clever?" I muttered reproachfully, taking the Cleansweep from him. I mounted the broom and immediately regretted all decisions I'd ever made in my entire microscopic speck of existence ever.

The neck dipped slightly to the wooden floor of the stands, and in a panic, I pulled upwards and flipped the whole broom into a vertical position.

"HOLY HUFFLEPUFF!" I shouted. I wrapped my legs around the broom to try and stay on, but it was no use.

I slipped down the broom and fell onto my bottom in a humiliated heap, and the broom tumbled and clattered onto the floor after me. I buried my head in my arms, too humiliated to speak to or look Potter in the face.

Instead of the laughter I'd thought would greet me, however, I heard clapping. "Bravo, Evans. You got on the broom."

I poked my head up from the floor and it was enough movement to send a wave of pain shooting to my offended backside. "Oh, sodding hell," I grumbled, picking myself back up into a much more dignified posture.

I glanced over at Potter, noticing the way his lips twitched as he struggled to remain professional and not laugh me all the way back to the dormitories.

I narrowed my eyes at him. "It's almost worse when you don't laugh at me," I bit out bitterly.

He bowed his head just slightly in shame. "Sorry, Evans. I just didn't want to discourage you."

"How sweet."

He shrugged, a sheepish grin on his lopsided lips.

I sighed, rubbing at my bottom gingerly. It bloody hurt! "If we're going to do this, I'd prefer it if you were honest. I mean, I've just gone and fallen arse over tit, Potter. I'm sure it made a very funny picture."

He grimaced, his eyes hooded in guilt, a smile slowly spreading across his face. He opened his mouth to say something, but then was completely overtaken by a shuddering snort and a wave of deep, rolling laughter. His whole body shook with it; he was doubling over and shaking his head. "You—you're _terrible_!" he finally managed to choke out in between guffaws.

"Figured out that much on your own, have you?" I replied dryly.

"Whenever I'm having a bad day, I'm going to think of this moment," he said through airy laughter. "Evans, you've given me a gift."

"Happy to be of service."

Potter wiped the corners of his eyes and tracked his hands down the fronts of his trousers. "Ah. Now, then."

When he'd calmed down enough, and my bottom stopped hurting so much, Potter went into full Captain Mode and got me back on the broom.

"The key here is balance, Evans." He stood next to me, one hand keeping the broom steady while the other pushed back against my abdomen just slightly. "You need to engage your core, keep a firm grip, and tuck your feet back just so."

"Oh, is that all? Shall I perform a ballet while I'm at it? Which do you prefer—Tchaikovsky or Stravinksy? Personally, I'm more of a— _argh!_ " I'd wobbled just slightly, but Potter caught me by the elbow and helped me stay upright.

"Less cheek, and more focus, eh, Evans?" he said.

I nodded, scared suddenly witless by the prospect of falling off the broom again. Instead, I bit my tongue and concentrated very hard on all of his instructions, until he let go of my waist, my arm, then the broom, and it was just me, hovering while perfectly balanced midair.

"Remember, Evans. You're the one in control." He turned around and walked to the back of the stands.

"Where—where are you going?" I asked, panicked.

"Don't worry! Stay right where you are!" he called back to me.

I bit my lip and squared my shoulders, getting used to the feeling of the proper grip on the broom, the correct alignment of my spine, the anchoring of my abdomen, the energy pulling up through my toes. Flying was a full-body experience. I'd only ever used my anxiety before.

Suddenly, Potter was next to me, only he was on his own broom. "Follow me," he said, and he turned his broom away and towards the Quidditch pitch.

I watched as he used his whole body to guide his broom through the air, the flex of his arms, the tension between his shoulder blades, the line of his back, the shape of his bum—oh. Oh no. I was fully checking him out.

And I wasn't that mad about what I saw, either.

I snapped out of my thoughts as quickly as I could, a blush sweeping across my cheeks in embarrassment.

Oh, _Merlin_. What was wrong with me?

He threw me a grin over his shoulder. "Come on, then, Evans. It's all right."

My heart did a weird sort of super-thump in my chest and I was all nerves as I nudged my broom handle over the banister of the stands and over the green of the pitch. "Potter, if I die, it's your fault."

"Cheers," he answered, sarcasm barely hiding a laugh.

He flew down to the green, and as he shouted instructions at me—"Use your whole body, Evans! Flatten your back, point your toes, keep your core anchored—that's it!"—I touched down after him.

"Well done, old girl," he said, grinning. He was holding his broom in one hand, feet firmly planted on the green grass.

"Stuff it," I mumbled, placing one shaky leg on the ground before dismounting my broom altogether.

"You know, if you just get out of your own head, Evans, you could really fly."

I fixed him with an incredulous glare.

He laughed. "Honestly!" he insisted. "You're pretty decent once you trust yourself."

I crossed my arms over my chest. "What are you getting at, Potter?"

He shrugged and let out a breath. "I mean, Evans, that you're acting a right coward, and the only way you're going to get comfortable enough to keep up this charade of yours is to practice."

"Oh, that's helpful, seeing as I've only got exactly one night to practice, Potter, so if you have any way to speed up the process, now would be the time to share with the class."

Potter ran a hand through his windswept hair, messing it up even further. I had half a mind to go over and brush it back down with my own fingers, but I didn't want him getting the wrong idea. Just because he had nice arms, etc, didn't mean I wanted to have anything to do with them. You know, like be wrapped up in them, for example (just for example—I wasn't thinking about it, or anything!).

"I thought you were doing well just then?" he said, his brows furrowing in question.

I scoffed, digging the toe of my right foot into the ground. "Only 'cos I had Captain Potter talking me through it. I can't exactly have you shouting basic flying instructions at me from across the pitch tomorrow, now can I?"

"Probably not," he agreed. "Well, you just need to get used to the way your body should move in the air. After that, it's just simple muscle memory."

"Right," I said.

"Right," he repeated. He clapped his hands together. "Well, back on your broom, Evans, we don't have _all_ night!"

I got on my broom as commanded, and Potter walked towards me, muttering this and that about my form, turning my wrists in the right position, righting my waist, pointing my toes at just the right angles where my legs draped from either side of the broom, and just when I thought he was going to pull back to admire his work, the cheeky git got right on the broom behind me!

He reached his arms around me and gripped the neck of the broom just below mine, leaning his body on me, his chin just resting on my shoulder, his breath on my neck, lips next to my cheek.

"Potter, what are you doing?" I asked, my nerves shot to hell at all the physical contact.

He laughed in my ear. "Speeding up the process. Trust me, Evans, just a few rounds along the perimeter, and you won't be able to fly in any other position."

I knew he meant that I wouldn't be able to fly with bad form, but his choice of words was cheeky, flirty. I was blushing so deeply, I was afraid I was going to catch fire.

Before I could protest, he pushed gently off the ground and we floated up a few feet. I could feel him breathing. In the cold of the evening autumnal air, his body was warm and comforting against mine. He wrapped his hands around my forearms, and steered us around the pitch. I was too aware of him, his body, his breath, his heartbeat. His hair tickled my cheek, his glasses pressed against my temple. He smelled of sandalwood and petrichor.

It was very distracting, and I had to be able to remember everything he taught me tonight so that I wouldn't be an easy, clumsy target for Bellatrix Black tomorrow afternoon, but I couldn't calm down enough to do so; I was too tense against him. I had to relax!

I closed my eyes for a fraction of a second to try and clear my mind of him, and just feel what it felt like to fly—specifically, what it felt like to fly without fear.

"Evans, are you closing your eyes?" he whispered.

My eyes popped open. "Sorry! I was just trying to get used to the feeling without, you know, worrying about dying."

He laughed softly. "Fair enough. I'll steer, and you get used to the feeling. And next round, we'll have you open your eyes, yeah?"

"Yeah," I said, my eyes already drifting closed.

The wind whipped at my hair, but I was draped in James Potter, so the cold wasn't bothersome at all. Eventually, I relaxed enough to understand what his body was trying to get mine to do.

His cheek brushed mine. "Open your eyes, Evans," he instructed.

I did, and was surprised to find we were quite far above the stands, circling the pitch at an unnecessarily drastic height. I'd never been up that high before!

I immediately tensed against him again. "Bloody hell, Potter!"

He laughed again, and rubbed a hand down my arm. "Relax, Evans. You were performing just beautifully before. Remember what it felt like."

I bit my lip, quite out of my element, but attempted to recreate the feeling. I relaxed my shoulders, evened out my breath, loosened my grip just a bit, and leaned in time with his body as we made a turn about the pitch.

"That's it," he encouraged. "That's exactly right."

A few rounds later, we were flying around as one, perfectly in sync with each other, our bodies moving in tandem and cutting through the air with hardly any resistance.

"Right, now let's get back on the ground."

I executed a perfect landing, and he detached himself from my back. "Back in the air!" he ordered.

I surprised myself, because I managed it, and I wasn't so bleedin' terrified anymore.

"Turn out your wrists just a bit!" he shouted from the ground.

And I was flying—I was actually flying. To be fair, I'd sort of figured out the whole "lean this way and you'll get where you want to go" bit just yesterday, but now that I knew how my body was supposed to control the broom, it was much, much easier.

It didn't feel like a game of chance in the air. I wasn't thinking, "I wonder if my broom will be agreeable," but rather, "Turn out the wrists, tuck in the elbows, the head, point the toes, keep the core anchored, stay balanced. I have this."

I, Lily Evans, was perched atop a broom. And it wasn't so horrifying anymore.

I flew in one large, looping circle around the pitch, and this time, when Potter clapped his arms and yelled, "Bravo, Evans!" I actually believed him.


	5. That'll be the smell, James

Potter and I scrambled up to the portrait hole together, absolutely filthy, and having a friendly argument about whether or not I owed him my entire stock of Honeydukes sweets (three chocolate frogs and a box of fizzing whizbees), or if a packet of sugar quills, paid in weekly installments, would do.

"For exactly how many weeks would this go on?" I asked just outside the portrait hole.

"Until I feel I have been justly paid," he said. To the Fat Lady, he proclaimed, "Gilgamesh."

The portrait swung open, and he stepped back to let me through the portrait hole first. I rolled my eyes and climbed in, saying, "It's only been one lesson, Potter. Besides, if things go wrong, I'd stop payment."

"No arguments there," he retorted, climbing through behind me. "Course, nothing _will_ go wrong. That's the Potter guarantee."

He stuck out his hand, all business-like, and I snorted. I shook his hand. "You're ridiculous."

He grinned, his hand still wrapped around my fingers. His hazel eyes had locked with mine, warming me from my dizzying head to my curling toes, and I felt my lips pucker up quite on their own.

_Traitors!_

He took a step towards me. We were close enough that it wouldn't take much movement for our lips to touch; we both just had to lean in at exactly the right distance for a kiss. The air between us seemed to spark, his breath tickling my cheek, my insides warm and expanding and longing, inching closer towards him.

I blinked slowly up at him, my eyelashes fluttering. I breathed in his boyish scent, letting it fill my lungs and plant a garden there. His hand around mine was setting my whole being ablaze. I felt engulfed in hazel flames—hazel, the color of his eyes…

Just one slight tip of the chin and—

"Oi! It's about time you got in," called Jen, rounding on us from behind the staircases that led up to the dormitories. Startled out of our very hormonal skins, Potter and jumped a meter apart.

Jen smirked. "Hello, Potter."

"Alright, Tills," he answered, nodding at her, ruffling a hand through his hair nervously. "Reckon I'd better turn in." He turned to me, and, not quite meeting my eyes, said, "Night, Lily."

"Night, James," I answered, a blush creeping up my neck.

He smiled back at me shyly. "Night," he directed at Jen, then pushed past us and made his way to the staircases.

As soon as we heard the door to the seventh year boys' dormitories close behind him, Jen and I turned to each other, identical looks of disbelief etched on our faces.

" _Lily?"_ I said.

" _James?_ " she said with equal incredulity in her voice. "Since when are you two on a first name basis?"

I was too overwhelmed to explain the intimacies we'd shared on a broom, so I went for hyperbole.

"Since just now, when we had sex in a broom cupboard. Makes sense, actually."

Jen's eyes nearly popped out of her head. " _WHAT?!_ "

I nearly choked from laughing so hard. "Ah, you should've seen your face!"

She narrowed her brown eyes and smacked my arm. I only laughed harder. "You deserved that."

"Sorry. I just couldn't help it." I wasn't sorry. It'd been worth it. "But it _is_ strange, isn't it?"

"He called you Lily. And you called him James. It wouldn't be such a big deal, except—"

I nodded. "Except we—we haven't always been on the best of terms. Well, it turns out he's not as big of a prat as I thought he was."

"Newsflash," she said sarcastically. "What were you doing up so late together, anyway?" Then, pulling a face, said, "You smell."

"Oh, cheers, mate," I retorted. "He was tutoring me."

"Potter? Tutor _you_? In what?"

I bit my lip. "In the one thing in which I'm just total rubbish."

Jen huffed impatiently.

"Flying, alright? He was teaching me how to fly."

She crossed her arms across her chest. "You _told_ him?"

"I couldn't lie to him! He's a clever bloke; he would have figured it out somehow. Besides, who better to teach me to fly than the Captain of the undefeated Gryffindor Quidditch team for the last four years?"

"Fair point," she conceded. "Although, I do remember you saying something about how it was luck that's gotten Potter so many straight wins year after year."

I bit the inside of my cheek guiltily. I _had_ said that, back when I thought Potter was a git that didn't deserve any of the praise he got. As far as I was concerned, he was a stuck up, spoiled little snot that got away with everything just because his parents could afford to get him out of trouble, and he could charm the pants off of everyone with a friendly prank and a few jokes. Also, he was top of the class and I _never_ saw him revise for anything, so obviously, he had to be cheating.

I mean, one person can't have everything, right? He couldn't be popular, charming, mischievous, rich as royalty, _and_ an actual genius child prodigy!

It wasn't fair.

It was too much talent and privilege for one human being.

But after tonight, after a few hours of flying with him, of learning him, of feeling his heartbeat, his breathing, his laugh against my cheek—things were a little different.

Firstly, I could fly.

We'd gone over and over it and made sure I could get on the broom correctly, descend properly, balance steadily, and I even flew up as high as the top of the stands on my own (before losing my nerve and coming down to a reasonable height).

James had been incredible. We flew side by side, racing by the end of it all, laughing, and having a good time. "No one will ever know you've just learned how to fly," he'd said. "Just try and stay out of the spotlight, and you'll be fine."

Secondly, he made my whole body buzz. I was definitely attracted to him, there was no denying that, but it was _Potter._ James. It was _just James_. I pushed the thought away beneath another creeping blush.

I met Jen's gaze and smiled sheepishly. "Yeah…" I trailed off. "Well, we should know I'm a rubbish judge of character by now."

Her gaze softened, likely catching my meaning (Severus), and she smiled gently at me, placing an arm around my shoulders. "No, you just like to give people the benefit of the doubt."

"But never James," I said, frowning.

Jen laughed. "Well, you are now, and I reckon that's all that matters."

"S'pose so."

Jen leaned in to give me a side-hug. She pulled back and shot me a look of disgust. "Ugh, you really do smell, you know. It's a good thing I stopped Potter from kissing you earlier, or it would have been a tragedy. You should get in the bath straight away!"

I spluttered, a total heap of nerves and panic. "You saw that?! You absolute arse!" I finally managed.

She laughed, pushing me all the way to the girls' shared bath.

I can't believe she'd seen that and interrupted us, anyway!

Some best mate she is!

"What, did you actually want him to kiss you?" she asked when we'd gotten through the threshold.

The shared bath was made up of various shower stalls along one wall, a row of sinks and mirrors opposite them, and stacks of freshly laundered towels and robes piled on shelves and hanging from hooks. I plucked a towel off a shelf and made my way into a shower stall.

"I don't know," I answered honestly, closing the wooden stall door behind me.

"Would you have let him kiss you if I hadn't walked in on you?" her voice called through the stall.

I turned on the water, hot steam rolling pleasantly through the air.

"Lily?" she called.

"I'm thinking about it!" I said, stepping out of my dirty socks and into the shower.

James had grasped my hand, stepped closer to me, sent my whole body into a daze. It'd been that way earlier in the day in Potions, when I'd wanted to hug him, and then again when he'd wrapped himself around me on the broom. I had this sensation in my chest, a blooming inflation of hope that my poor little body couldn't possibly contain, and the only way it would stop hurting was if he was closer, if he was near me.

So when he'd leaned in, I'd been ready. I'd _wanted_ James to kiss me.

The realization scared me more than flying high above the Quidditch stands.

"Any day now," Jen pestered through the stall's slatted door.

I deliberated with myself for another second, concluding that I didn't actually fancy James—I was just high on endorphins from flying. Kissing him would have been a huge mistake.

Kissing him would have led him to think there were feelings attached to my lips—and it was only hormones, as far as I could tell.

That was all! Kissing James, without knowing how I felt about him, wouldn't have been fair to him.

"No," I answered finally, a sinking feeling in my stomach. "You did the right thing, Jen. Thanks."

"Thought as much."

I'd lied to my best mate before, but she had always been able to call me out on it. This time, the truth was too farfetched for her to even begin forming suspicion.

Even though I was exhausted and happily sore after my flying lesson with James, it still took me a full half hour before I finally fell asleep.

My mind was rushing through thoughts and sorting through feelings. I was asking myself all kinds of questions.

If I wanted to do a nosedive tomorrow, exactly how would I manage that? I'd forgotten to ask James.

He made me forget a lot of things, actually. Like the fact that I don't actually _like_ him.

He was helpful, yes, and quite attractive, and game for a laugh, although it was sweet of him not to have a go at me when I'd so clearly given him the perfect opportunity to do so, and—what was my point again?

Oh, right.

I don't actually like him.

I just wanted him to kiss me because flying is such a new and harrowing experience that it's only natural I'd attach my feelings of exhilaration to a person instead of flying itself. I'm still petrified of flying out of habit, but really, all these positive feelings are a result of learning to fly properly and conquering my fears—James has nothing to do with them.

I like _flying_.

I _don't fancy_ James.

We're classmates and partners in Head duties at best.

Nothing more.

Nothing.

* * *

 

I should have known that apart from learning how to nosedive, James and I had forgotten to cover one other important subject on the pitch.

"So, Prongs keep you out late last night, eh?" said a smirking Sirius Black from across the Gryffindor table in the Great Hall.

It was breakfast, and he was piling eggs and fried tomatoes on his plate.

"We didn't break curfew," I answered coyly, as I spread jam on a scone.

His smirk deepened. "So I s'pose you've learned a lot, then," he said, nonchalantly.

"Oh yes, lots," I replied, slathering some clotted cream on the other half of my scone. I hadn't been paying him much attention as I pushed the two halves together, ready to enjoy a bite.

He swallowed a mouthful of egg and flashed me a grin. "Excellent. So you wouldn't mind if the boys and I joined you this afternoon? I'd like to see what you've been able to pick up in an evening."

I blinked at him, my scone halfway to my mouth. What?

"What?" I asked.

Unfortunately for me, Marlene had been listening in and she laughed. "Course you can join us, Black! Judging by the length of the lesson, I'd say Lily's ready to take you on!"

"What?" I asked again, but to no avail. No one was paying me any mind.

"You're on," Black said, reaching his hand across the table.

Marlene took it and grinned toothily. "You're gonna regret this, Black."

"Doubt it," he shot back, and he went back to his breakfast.

"Sorry, what _are_ the pair of you going on about?" asked an irate Mary. She was busy finishing up her Arithmancy problems, procrastinator that she was.

"Hippogriff," answered Marlene, shrugging. "We've a game this afternoon, remember?"

My eyes widened.

Of course!

Hippogriff!

I'd completely forgotten about the game! Stupid, stupid Lily!

All this time I'd been obsessing over whether or not I fancied James and the idiot wanker hadn't even taught me the thing he said he'd teach me in the first place!

And I'd gotten distracted by a stupid, didn't-happen, never-happening _kiss?!_

Honestly! Where was my head?

James walked through the doors then, and before I knew what I was doing, I was wrapping my scone in a napkin and heading right for him. He smiled at me, but the light in his eyes dimmed slightly as he registered that I was on a warpath and he was my target.

"You tosser!" I accused, poking him in the chest.

Smartly, he said, "Sorry?"

"You forgot to teach me Hippogriff! And now I have to play in a game against you and your idiot, tosser mates because they think that's what we'd done all last night!"

He sighed. "Lily, you could barely stay on a broom without making a kebab of yourself."

He may have been right, but I ignored him. "You have a free period after the first block, correct?"

He nodded. "Yes, but I'm—"

"Whatever you're doing, cancel it. Because you're teaching me Hippogriff, and no one will know the difference this afternoon!"

He ran a hand through his hair in frustration and sighed. "Fine," he said finally.

"Too right!" I exclaimed. "Meet me in the Entrance Hall."

"Yes, ma'am."

I glared at him, but he only shrugged me off and made his way to the table. I'd made too much of a scene to join him, so I went up to the second floor corridor and ate my scone on an abandoned bench as I tried to calm down from the ridiculous anger-panic that had just consumed me.

I felt like _such_ an idiot.

The humiliation of Operation Fire Dragon was never-ending!

"Well, well, well, look what we have here," said a snarling voice from down the corridor.

It was Bellatrix Black with Nott, Severus, and Yaxley behind her.

"Looks like the tetchy Mudblood who had a go at you on the Quidditch pitch, Nott," said the gravelly voice of Yaxley.

Severus remained quiet.

I glanced at them all, standing there, the picture of intimidation, and I could have almost laughed at how rehearsed it all appeared. However, I was scared shitless in the moment, and struggling to find the upper hand. "I thought you would have told them, Black," I said, finally, my eyes lingering on Bellatrix's face languidly, coolly, before landing on Yaxley. "It's Head Girl to you."

Bellatrix laughed. "Told you she was funny, didn't I?"

Nott sneered, a cruel smile on his lips. "You're going to pay for what you did, _Head Girl_." His voice was nasally and unusually pitched.

"I think you'd better be careful about who you threaten, Nott," I replied nonchalantly, getting up from the bench and walking slowly to him.

He stepped towards me, wand in hand. "I think I'll take my chances."

I reached for my own wand in my robes' pocket, and smiled hugely. "Then for your sake, I hope they're better than your attempts at the Wronksi Defensive Feint."

The resulting glowers from both Bellatrix and him were totally worth it.

"Why don't we settle this on the Quidditch pitch, eh?" said another voice from down the corridor.

Oh no, oh _no!_

"Well, if it isn't my blood-traitor of a cousin," said Bellatrix, leering openly.

"Hello, Slag," Sirius Black replied sunnily. He came up behind the group of Slytherins, who parted for him, as though afraid they might catch whatever Gryffindor-ish qualities he had.

Bellatrix glared at him as he sauntered to my side. "What's this about the Quidditch pitch, then, dear _cousin_?" She said "cousin" as though it were an insult. I suddenly understood what Black had meant by having a fucked up home life last night.

Black ignored her. "We're set to play a game of Hippogriff this afternoon. Why don't you join us and settle this dispute once and for all?"

Good Godric, _no!_

Bellatrix considered this, but she glanced at me and smirked. "I don't think the little Mudblood will survive. Look at her—she's already panicking!" She let out a shrill, bloodcurdling laugh.

The other Slytherins in her party openly rejoiced in this knowledge, baring their teeth in a pennant banner of smug smiles.

I narrowed my eyes at her. "Afraid you'll lose to a _Mudblood_ , Black?" I spat.

"Oh!" she exclaimed in glee. "Not at all, _dear_ , but what do I have to look forward to when I _do_ win?"

"She'll apologize to me," cut in Nott. "And she'll answer to 'Mudblood.'"

"In your dreams, Nott. When _I_ win, I get to hex your mouth shut every time you forget to call me Head Girl."

What the bloody hell was I doing? I couldn't play a game of Hippogriff against the Slytherin Terrors _and place a bet on it_! That was gambling! I was _Head Girl,_ for _Merlin's sake!_

Bellatrix and her cronies conferred to consider the arrangement and now I had to live with whatever decision they made.

I still didn't even know what in the bleedin' hell the game was about!

I pulled Black aside. "You had better help me win this!"

He rolled his eyes. "Evans, you know very well that you won't fuck this up."

"Oh, _dearie_!" Bellatrix called.

Black pulled away from me and towards his mad-looking cousin.

Yikes. I mean, imagine having to be related to _that_.

She was grinning manically again. "We have a deal."

"See you on the pitch," Black said.

Bellatrix cackled, no doubt remembering her thinly veiled threat to me when she'd said the exact same words just yesterday in the library. She turned on her heel and made for the staircases, Yaxley and Nott following suit.

Severus hesitated for a moment, looking as though he were itching to say something, but instead, he simply gave a curt nod in farewell and took his leave.

I turned to Black and smacked him in the side. "You idiot!" I hissed.

"I didn't exactly see you resist!" he returned, clearly affronted.

"I didn't have a choice!" I rejoined.

He frowned. "Why are you so worried, anyway?"

I groaned. "They're going to eat me alive on the pitch."

"Don't sell yourself so short, Evans. You've got more flying ability in your little finger than the entirety of Slytherin House combined."

I snorted. "I only wish that were true."

He grinned. "Well you can do a wicked Wronski, yeah?"

I almost hesitated, but nodded. "Yeah."

"And Prongs taught you how to play Hippogriff last night! That's all you'll need. James is an excellent captain. I'm sure you won't disappoint. Besides, with me and the boys on your team, this game of Hippogriff will be a piece of steak-and-kidney pie."

I cocked my head to the side, confused.

He shrugged in response. "I really like steak-and-kidney pie." He led us into the Arithmancy classroom, and continued to talk about a rivalry he held with Frank Longbottom over steak-and-kidney pie.

 _Merlin_. How do I get myself into these things?

As soon as Arithmancy was over, and I'd copied down the homework for the week, I raced down to the Entrance Hall, impatient to get started on my flying lesson with Potter.

I had to learn how to play this game. I needed to learn how to play _well_ and dominate. And most importantly, I really needed to learn not to let my temper or my pride get the best of me. This was getting ridiculous.

Potter trudged down the staircases five minutes later. He was still taking Divination for some ungodly reason, and smelled of incense and smoked sage.

"Good Godric, man, what are they doing in that tower?" I asked, waving my hands about at the smell.

He shrugged. "It's supposed to clear away negative energy. Seems to be working," he replied, as a group of second year Slytherins gave him a wide berth.

"That'll be the smell, James," I declared.

I froze to the spot, suddenly aware that I'd called him James. He seemed to freeze, too, and we just stood there for several long moments, while I scrambled for something— _anything_ —to say.

"Your idiot mate is totally mental," I blurted.

James started. Apparently he wasn't expecting that. "What?"

"Your friend Black just invited Bellatrix, Nott, Yaxley, and Snape to a game of Hippogriff to settle the _serious offense_ I made against Nott on Tuesday."

"Shit," he murmured under his breath.

"Exactly. Do you see how utterly barmy he is yet?"

He fidgeted with his glasses and shook his head. "He may be barmy, but he's under the impression that you're a wicked flyer, Evans, and that's all _your_ fault."

Ouch. I have to admit that that actually stung. I mean, not only did he just call my bluff, but he also reverted to calling me "Evans" when I'd very obviously—and recently!—called him "James."

"Come on, let's get this over with," he said, walking out the large front doors and towards the Quidditch pitch.

Ouch, ouch, _ouch_.

_Let's get this over with?!_

What crawled up his arse and laid a poo in it this morning?

He picked out a pair of Cleansweeps for us from the broom shed on the outskirts of the pitch, and immediately mounted his broom and flew to the stadium. I scoffed after him. I couldn't believe he'd just abandoned me!

I willed my body to remember everything from the night before. I mounted the broom, gripped the neck, kept my wrists turned out, kicked off the ground, pointed my toes, and sat straight up, getting my balance as I steered carefully towards the pitch.

I wobbled just slightly, only once, and righted myself with minimal effort.

"Good, you're catching on well," said James once I'd finally reached him. He was in the middle of the green, sitting atop an old, rusting trunk.

"All thanks to you," I said, smiling sheepishly. I dismounted my broom and made my way toward him.

He gave a short nod in acknowledgement and went back into Captain Mode. "Part of Hippogriff is a bit like jousting, but with Bludgers and beaters' bats. You'll have a second who will keep the Bludgers away from you, until the crucial moment when you can actually aim a Bludger at your opponent."

I blinked.

What the ever-living fuck had I just got myself into?

"You're kidding," I said.

"'Fraid not," he replied. He got up from the trunk and flipped the lid open. Inside were five Bludgers and ten bats. "This is the school's standard line Hippogriff set. There are only two left. It got banned as an official Hogwarts sport after an incident that resulted in a few rogue Bludgers attacking defenseless spectators in the stands."

I gawked. "Then how are we even allowed to play it during Operation Fire Dragon?"

"We just need permission," he replied, a slight twitch at the corners of his lips.

"Who from?" I asked.

Finally, for the first time that day, he smiled at me. "From the Head Boy and Head Girl."

Whaaaaaaaaaaat.

I gaped. "Oh my Godric, can we not, then?"

He sighed. "Lily, be sensible. How much sense would it make to call off a game of Hippogriff that you yourself help set up?"

Lily! Hurrah, he'd called me "Lily" again! I only celebrated for a millisecond because then I registered what he'd said.

"You want to get them off your back, don't you?" he continued. "It would finally give you peace of mind, wouldn't it?"

I sighed, pouting. I refused to give a definite answer and went for complaining. "But does it have to be with a game of Hippogriff of all things? Frankly, the game alone sounds more dangerous than being cornered by the lot of them."

"Not if I'm your second," he rejoined. "I'll make sure you hit your target."

I groaned, running my hands down my face. "Oh my Godric, of course you will, because if you don't, then that means _I_ get hit, doesn't it?"

James nodded solemnly, though his eyes flickered with amusement.

"James, this isn't funny! I'm about to have a wizard's duel MIDAIR, when I've just learnt how to fly _last night_ ; I may die from this—I _could_ die from this, the possibility is _definitely_ there!—and you're having a go at me!"

Apparently, that particular combination of words had the exact effect of making him go mad with laughter. He was doubled over, wheezing with the effort of breathing whilst openly guffawing, until there were no sounds coming out, just bursts of air out of a gaping, laughing, mouth.

"What the hell is _so_ amusing?" I asked, crossing my arms over my chest. I did not take well to being laughed at!

"You—you actually—you believed what I said! Every word of it!" he chortled.

I felt my cheeks heat up. I was sure I looked like a radish with hair. "What do you mean?"

"I was only joking," he said. "There's no jousting—I just couldn't resist to see how you'd react!"

I walked right up to him and smacked his arm. "You _absolute wanker!_ "

He held his hands up in defense, eyes shining with unshed tears, a huge, shit-eating grin stretching his lips. "I'm sorry, Lily. You made it too easy."

"Oh yes, it's so easy for a Pureblooded wizard to make fun of the fact that as a Muggleborn, I have zero clue what sort of fucked up games you wizards can come up with!" I smacked his other arm, and he jumped out of the way. "Apparently, they can be _very_ fucked up!"

This time, he seemed to understand that he might have crossed the line. "I'm sorry, Lily. I didn't mean to make you feel, erm…" he trailed off, looking all the world like a lost puppy. He set his steady hazel gaze on mine. "I really _am_ sorry."

And then, it happened again. That traitorous warm feeling that let him take my hand in his last night, let him envelop my fingers in his grasp, let him pull me to him—that blooming, indescribable balloon of something in my chest that wouldn't ever stop trying to escape me unless he was within my reach. Our eyes locked. In the midday sunshine, I could make out flecks of green and gold in his eyes.

He was getting closer again—or was I getting closer to him?

I couldn't tell.

Just one more step and—

But I didn't fancy James!

I blinked, breaking the spell between us. "Honestly, I might have done the same thing," I admitted.

He cocked his head to the side, a small smirk residing on his lips. "Really?"

"Especially the way I spoke to you this morning," I continued.

Wait, hang on. Now _I_ was apologizing? WHY?

"You were just panicked," he said, waving it off.

I shrugged. "You didn't deserve it. I'm sorry for that."

He grinned. "Alright, well back to the lesson, eh? We've got a lot to cover, and very little time. How do you feel about skiving off History of Magic?"

"Can we do that?" I asked. The thought had honestly never occurred to me before.

"'Course we can! And, we can even blame it on Head duties. Binns wouldn't notice if a bunch of kneazles turned up instead of students, anyway."

I crossed my arms over my chest. "Just how many times have you used 'Head duties' as an excuse to skive off, James?"

James grinned a crooked grin. "It would never work without you in on it, Lily."

His eyes, that _look_ , the warmth was seeping through me again. I had to get a hold of my senses!

I cleared my throat. "Let's just see how it goes for now," I said. "If there's no way I can beat Nott at Hippogriff by lunchtime, then we'll see about having an emergency Heads meeting during Binns's class, eh?"

He laughed.

"So what exactly _is_ Hippogriff, anyway?" I asked, picking up my Cleansweep.

James closed the trunk of Bludgers and Beaters' bats and chuckled. "I'm so glad you asked." He swung a leg over his Cleansweep and flew around me in a tight circle, whipping up a whirligig of wind about my hair and robes.

"Hippogriff is what we wizards like to call relay drag broom racing."

I cocked my head in suspicion. "Are you taking the piss out of me again?"

He laughed and descended in front of me. "I wouldn't try that twice. Trust me."

I bit the inside of my cheek, my lips protruding thoughtfully as I considered it. Trust James.

Trust James Potter.

It was either trust James Potter or let all of Slytherin House call me a Mudblood to my face and not be able to do anything about it. I mean, they sort of did that already, anyway, but at least I could take away House points and defend myself. I still had my pride.

Without a win—without James Potter's help—I wouldn't even have that. I wouldn't have the one thing that got me into this mess in the first place.

I nodded and looked up at James, careful not to lock eyes with him lest that hopelessly romantic balloon in my chest began to swell at the flecks of gold in his irises and I was rendered completely out of my wits.

"Right," I said, straddling my Cleansweep. "Show me how to win."

James beamed, and I tried to convince myself that the blooming feeling in my chest had everything to do with my steep angle of ascension into the air and nothing at all to do with the way his eyes crinkled just so when he looked at me.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don't understand why James is still taking Divination, but I bet it has something to do with trying to divine whether or not he and Lily Evans are Meant2Be.


	6. Thank Merlin for Cushioning Charms

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I borrowed a line from the ineffable Lin-Manuel Miranda in here somewhere. Find it?

That midmorning, cool and sunny as it was, would be the beginning of an entirely new era in my life. Not only was I attempting to master a very challenging skill that usually required _years_ (certainly not mere hours!) of practice, but I was getting help from the last person I ever expected to turn to in my hour of need.

"The reason there are teams," James explained as we lapped lazily around the pitch, "is that Hippogriff's not just a race—it's a relay race, and the handoff is a bit complex."

I remembered relay races! It was an Olympic sport, I was sure! Part of the track and field events. There were four runners or so to a team, and they all had a baton they would have to give or receive, depending on where they were in the lineup.

Wait—that was the handoff.

The _handoff?_ AS IN, I would take my _hand off_ the broom?!

**HOW?!**

Panicked, I looked down at my hands. They were both firmly gripping the neck, steering, in control. "I can't fly without both hands on the broom!"

James didn't seem to understand the severity of the situation. "'Course you can!" he said flippantly. "What's really tricky is—"

"No, James. I don't think I can take my hands off the broom, I really don't."

He sighed. "Why don't we try it, before you decide what you can and cannot do?"

I bit my lip. "Okay."

"Right, so as I was saying. The handoff can get tricky. There are quite a few rules involved." He began to list them:

  1. There are four flyers on each team. At least two teams are needed to play Hippogriff.
  2. Each flyer can only hand off the Snitch within the marked Handoff Zone; otherwise, they are disqualified.
  3. Each flyer must hold onto their Snitch, or they will be disqualified.
  4. If you are the second, third, or anchor flyer, you may begin flying at 100 feet before the Handoff Zone in order to achieve necessary velocity during the Handoff, but must only receive the Snitch within the marked Handoff Zone, or you will be disqualified.
  5. f you block a competitor from overtaking you with force, you will be disqualified.
  6. However, those flyers that are not flying a leg of the course may at any point attempt to thwart competition with the use of Bludgers.
  7. If a flyer is hit by a Bludger and releases the Snitch, they are disqualified. However, if a teammate can catch the Snitch within 100 feet, they may take up the remaining leg of the race and continue to compete.
  8. The last flyer, called the anchor flyer, must give the Snitch to the first flyer. If they do not, they are disqualified, even if they've won the race.



It all seemed simple enough to understand, but I was more than terrified because of the whole one-handed flying business. I was still learning basic controls on the thing!

James directed me to keep my balance as I flew along the perimeter of the pitch. "If you're going for speed—which you will be, during Hippogriff—you want to get as close to the broomstick as possible—"

"Thank Merlin for Cushioning Charms," I grumbled, stretching forwards over the broom.

He ignored me. "Now extend your legs back and hook your ankles over the broom."

I was eyelevel with the neck of the broom, completely horizontal midair, just a few feet above the ground. I brought my legs back and up as he instructed, feeling more and more vulnerable in this new position.

"You should feel more anchored now that your whole body is being supported by the broom," he said.

He was so wrong.

"Er, sure," I replied meekly.

"Now drop your arms."

I tensed, too afraid to make any sudden movements in my state of alarm. "Sorry, what?" I squeaked. I'd stopped flying and just hovered.

James chuckled, his hands wrapping themselves around my forearms. "Drop your arms," he repeated again.

I whimpered, and after he pried my hands off the broom handle, he placed his hands around my waist to steady me as I got my balance.

He leaned down to whisper gently in my ear, "It's alright, Lily. I've got you."

My heart felt aflutter, and I was suddenly nervy about something else entirely. I pushed down my nerves and gathered up all of my Gryffindor courage; I was determined to stay focused, hormones be damned.

Meanwhile, my arms were dangling beneath me. It almost felt like I was on some ledge up to my shoulders, my limbs swinging beneath me, gravity pulling on my muscles lightly.

"Now lift your arms, but don't grab ahold of the broom just yet," James said, still gently, still whispering in my ear.

It suddenly occurred to me how he might be taking advantage of my vulnerability, but I didn't think I could have stayed calm if he'd approached this any other way. Nevertheless, I couldn't help teasing him about it. "If I didn't know any better, I'd say you were trying to romance me."

He immediately let go of my waist, as though aware for the first time that he was still holding on to me. "Nothing gets by you," he said wryly. Okay, so maybe I'd read that all wrong. He cleared his throat. "Arms up and out!"

I lifted my arms, and I felt silly with my arms out in front of me as though I were some kind of superhero. Giggling, I lifted my face slightly to catch James's eyes. "It's a bird! It's a plane! It's—oh, _bollocks!_ " The broom wobbled violently, and I immediately wrapped myself around it, hanging on for dear life like a vine on a tree branch.

James burst out laughing. "It's Gryffin-Girl!" he finished for me. "In training."

I grumbled.

"You don't have your own theme tune yet, Lily, but soon you will."

I sighed, blowing up my fringe around my face.

"Now, then. Arms in front!" He was back in Captain Mode. "Since we don't have much time, we'll be training with a bum Snitch to start with, and then we'll trade it in for a real one." He pushed a cold, metal sphere into one of my hands. It was a Snitch without wings.

I went back in my superhero stance, the bum Snitch clutched tightly in my right hand.

"Lift your arms up over your head."

I nearly fell face first into the ground. "Are you mad?" I said, righting myself on the broom.

He sighed. "Use your legs to anchor yourself on the broom."

It was frustrating, painstaking work, but eventually I got comfortable enough to move my arms about. Then came the real challenge.

"Now, fly."

In hindsight, it shouldn't have alarmed me that I eventually had to actually fly, but as far as I was concerned in that moment, there was no way _anyone_ could fly with their bellies flat to the broom, and their arms dangling below them.

How would I steer?

"With your legs, and you still have one hand that's free," came James's amused answer.

I felt silly, but attempted it anyway. I leaned forward, used my legs to keep from dipping downwards, and steered with my left hand. Quite on my own, I discovered that if I pulled my wrist in a little tighter than I would if I had the use of both hands, I could control the broom rather well.

I ran a few laps around the pitch in this way, with James shouting out suggestions and encouragements as I went. Then, very suddenly, he was flying next to me. He threw me a wink and accelerated past me.

I frowned. How was I supposed to match his speed without pitching forwards over the broom?

Again, James answered for me. "Lean into it, Lily!"

I did.

"C'mon, catch up to me!" he called. He smirked over his shoulder, speeding up until I had no choice but to try.

I _leaned into it_ , pressing my whole body forwards against the broom, and felt myself speed up, cutting through the air like a mermaid through water. I sidled up next to James, and he pressed his shoulder against mine, urging me to go even faster.

Everything was a blur. It was the absolute fastest I'd ever flown in the history of my tiny little life, and it was simultaneously exhilarating and terrifying. I couldn't help the grin that broke out on my face.

James held out his hand, and for some happy, drunken moment, I thought he wanted me to hold it. I almost reached out to take it, but, fortunately, had a moment of clarity as I realized that I'd have to let go of my broom to do that, and then I'd be flying with no hands because the other hand had a bum Snitch in it.

And it occurred to me that that's what he wanted.

OBVIOUSLY. I was such a hormonal mess! Honestly, I had no idea what had gotten into me!

_Maybe he wants to hold my hand! Psh, as if, Lily. This is hardly the time!_

I reached over and placed the gold sphere in his hand. He wrapped his fingers over it, and in the handoff, caught my fingers in his. I ripped them out, half afraid it would affect my flying, and half afraid that I wanted them there.

He signaled for me to follow him, and he descended in a taut spiral to the green, dismounting his broom.

"Well done," he said, as I touched ground before him. "Think you can do it with a live Snitch?"

He reached into his robes' pocket and pulled out a fluttering Snitch, tossing it from hand to hand, then tossing it to me.

My eyes went as wide as saucers, my hands flying out in front of me in surprise. To my shock, and probably to James's, I actually caught the bloody thing.

I jumped up and down in delighted surprise. "Did you see that? My reflexes were _made_ for this!"

A small smile crept up on James's face and he lifted one very patronizing eyebrow. "That's all very well, Lily, but you'll have to catch it one-handed when you're flying."

That was all it took to break my resolve.

"Fuck, you're right," I groaned. "James, why did you ever let me think I could actually pull this off? There's no way—I am Lily Evans, Klutz Extraordinaire. I'm hopeless."

He rolled his eyes. "If that were really true, then you wouldn't be here in the first place. Just stop thinking about all the things you can't do—that's what I'm here for. I'm going to teach you."

I nodded, gratitude swelling in my chest and expressing itself with shining eyes. "Thank you."

He waved me off. "Toss me the Snitch," he said.

And that's how we began a short but intense game of catch with a golden Snitch. It was relaxing, being on the ground. As soon as we got back on our brooms, however, I had a newfound respect for Seekers everywhere.

After a half hour of practicing with the Snitch, and running drills around the pitch, we decided to break for lunch. I rehydrated, had my fill of beef stew, and then the Head Boy and I had an emergency meeting during N.E.W.T.-level History of Magic back at the Quidditch stadium.

We raced, practiced the handoff, and I even got to try out the Beater's bats and Bludgers. I nearly took off James's head, and that was the highlight. I decided I would try to avoid the responsibility of defending my teammates with a Beater's bat, as I would likely muck it all up and accidentally murder somebody.

By the time Operation Fire Dragon began, I was in desperate need of a shower. James, of course, looked absolutely flawless, used to the exercise, the bastard. Meanwhile, I was a sweating pygmy puff beneath my robes.

Mary, Marlene, Sirius and I huddled together on the green of the pitch, the old trunk full of Beaters' bats and Bludgers on the ground between us. James thought we should run some preliminary races to determine the lineup of our relay.

"We should have the fastest flyer go last, to make up for any lost time. Our slowest flyer should go second. Second-fastest will go first, and third-fastest will go third."

Marlene immediately raised her hand.

James sighed. "Yes, McKinnon."

"That's a fine strategy and all, Potter, for a bunch of rookies."

"Evans _is_ a rookie," pointed out Sirius, and while I was very happy _someone_ remembered that, I also felt a bit put out.

Mary scoffed. "She's been training with Potter all _day_ ," she said. "Don't think I didn't notice the two of you skiving off History of Magic."

Jen, who with Remus and Peter had been intermittently circling us and touching down to give the appearance that we were actually doing something and not just dawdling on the ground, gasped. "Lily Evans! You actually _skived off_? I can't believe it! Potter, you're a bad influence!"

"Actually, I think you'll find that it's Lily who is a bad influence on James," chimed in Remus from a few feet above us.

We all looked up at him in curious disbelief.

"What are you on about?" asked an approaching Peter.

Remus pinked a little as he realized all eyes were on him, but he continued anyway. "James was supposed to tutor me during our free period today, but Lily demanded he cancel that in order to train her instead."

"Lily!" cried Jen. She descended onto the green and looked utterly gobsmacked.

"It's fine," said James. "Remus, we already rescheduled. I'm sorry for cancelling on you this morning. And to be fair, it was my decision to help Lily at all. She didn't force me into anything."

I grimaced. I sort of had. He really shouldn't be defending me at all.

But instead of apologizing to him, I directed an apology to Remus. He merely blushed and murmured, "S'okay," before flying up and away from the lot of us. Poor thing. He must be wallowing in embarrassment.

I definitely was.

"So, anyway, about the lineup," insisted Marlene. "I think you're underestimating us."

"Why don't we run a few races and find out?" challenged James.

Marlene smirked. "You're on, Captain!" She got on her broom and flew up into the air as though she were riding lightning.

Oh, Merlin. How in the world was I supposed to compete with that?!

She was Galadriel and I was a Shire hobbit.

Mary flew up next, followed by Sirius, Jen, and Peter. I glanced nervously at James.

"It's now or never, Lily," he said, squeezing my shoulder reassuringly. "You can do this."

"Thank you," I replied, and I really meant it. Not just for his words, but for teaching me literally everything I knew about flying. I was staring too long into his eyes because that stupid feeling started making my heart soar, and I had to look away. My hands were shaking, but I tried not to let it show as I straddled my broom. "Catch you in the air!" I called, and pushed off the ground.

I'd learned from observing Potter that the easiest, quickest, and safest way to traverse vertical distances was by ascending or descending in a spiral. So that was exactly how I got up into the air. Within seconds, I was flying high above everyone else, watching our classmates fumble with Quaffles around the Quidditch hoops, run lazy laps around the pitch, or just hover in gossiping clusters away from any action.

I noticed one such cluster belonged to Bellatrix Black and her squad of baby Death Eaters, their green and silver scarves trailing down their robes. I could hear her evil cackle all the way from where I floated, several meters above the Quidditch stands.

Marlene called up to me. "Oi, Lily! Race is down here, you nutter!"

I grinned at her and flew down towards her so quickly that I came to just her nose. "Hadn't noticed, thanks," I said. I was so close to her face that it was blurry.

She threw her head back, roaring with laughter. "You're going to be a deathtrap, aren't you?"

I tossed my dark red hair behind one shoulder in response.

She laughed again, the light catching on her warm, brown cheeks, and she started doing her Donna Summer disco arms, her sleeves flapping haphazardly like doomed kites in the breeze. Mary giggled into one hand, overcome at the sight of her.

It took everything in me not to join in, so I just laughed, keeping both hands firmly around the neck of my broom, my knuckles turning white under my freckled pink skin.

"Racers at the ready," boomed James's voice from somewhere nearby.

The girls and I took our places next to Sirius. James floated off to the side, bellowing instructions at us in his most commanding Captain tones.

"You will fly to the end of the pitch and back. The rest of us will be watching closely to keep track of your times. Remember, Hippogriff is a non-contact sport, so absolutely _no_ "—and he seemed to direct an especially stern glare at a smirking Sirius—"roughhousing."

Sirius caught my panicked frown and threw me a wink. "Relax, Evans. I would never hurt you. Prongs would have me Transfigured into a pair of socks if I tried."

I rolled my eyes. "That's comforting."

"On your marks, get set, go!" James called, and suddenly, I was _racing_.

I flattened myself on the broom, and saw the others do similarly. We were all flying at about the same pace to the end of the pitch, dodging other students, flying around clusters of dawdlers, and most importantly, staying out of the sight of Madame Hooch.

We reached the three hoops at the end of the pitch and began to turn around, and that's when I saw it—a Bludger, headed straight for Mary's head.

"Watch it!" I screamed, overtaking her just in time to take a Bludger to one side. It knocked me sideways a bit, leaving a stinging pain in my ribs. It caused a small wobble of turbulence, but overall, hadn't compromised my balance or my speed.

"Nice, thanks Lily!" I heard Mary call from behind me.

I stuck out an arm in acknowledgement, but didn't have it in me to turn and say anything as the lingering pain in my side distracted me. Not to mention, we were still racing, after all, and my mind was going mad with euphoria.

I mean, I had practically just saved Mary Macdonald's life. I was Lily Evans, Actual Lifesaver. I hadn't even thought about it, really; I'd just dived right in front of the nasty thing, and I had sacrificed myself for a friend.

I hadn't known I had that in me!

Suddenly, I realized that I was leading the formation of racers—I was actually coming in first?!

Hurrah! I was in first place! I was winning!

WINNING! ME! AT FLYING!

Out of the corner of my eye, I caught a glimpse of dark hair and a full goatee making his way up to me.

Well, that hadn't lasted long.

On my other side, Marlene inched closer to me until I was firmly sandwiched between the two Gryffindor Beaters, who were flying with identical smirks on their faces. Oh, I'd forgotten about this. They are practically telepathic on the field. I used to admire it, but now that I was on the receiving end, I felt rather doomed.

I chanced a glance behind me to see where Mary might have gone, but she was nowhere in sight. It occurred to me that another Bludger might have got her while she was out of view, but then a shadow came over the three of us, and Mary's blonde hair was the only thing I could see as she descended practically on top of me.

Sirius, Marlene, and I broke up our formation, and in the last few feet of the race, we were egging on our brooms, pushing with our feet, willing our brooms to go the teensiest bit faster.

We were neck and neck, and I could hear James's voice say something vaguely encouraging in the background as I got eye-level with my broom handle, and decided in a split-second to tuck my arms back by my sides.

It would have worked, in theory, except I suddenly realized that neither of my hands was on the broom, and in the exact two seconds it took me to dip slightly as I panicked and got a handle on the broom, Marlene inched ahead of me and we reached the finish line.

"TIME!" screamed Peter. "And that's a strong finish, with Marlene finishing first, Sirius second, Mary third, and Lily last."

I sat up and pouted.

"Well done," said James, flying over to us, his hair sticking out in several places. I imagined he'd gotten nervous while he watched us.

Marlene was pumping her arms up and down in the air, her kinky curls bouncing slightly on her shoulders. "Bow down to me, Black! I beat you fair and square!"

Sirius smiled slyly and bowed his head in concession. "What'll it be this time, McKinnon?"

"I get to serve next practice!" she exclaimed. Her whole face was alight with excitement.

Mary sidled up to me and smiled, her eyes closing slowly. She did that when she was genuinely filled with joy. "Thank you for saving me from that Bludger, Lils."

I smiled and blinked slowly back at her. "Anytime."

She hummed in contentment and flew back to James to chat about something or other.

I flew over to Jen, and with one look at her, my mask of Lily Evans, Actual Lifesaver broke, succumbing to Lily Evans, Somebody Help Me.

"How are you doing?" she asked. "You took quite the hit there. And then did a weird dead fish in the air thing. Don't do that."

I chortled. "I _did_ do a weird dead fish in the air thing!" I laughed, remembering how I'd tried to slide my arms back by my sides to get more speed. "I didn't realize how stupid I would look!"

A smile graced her sand-gold features, her dark brown eyes shining with mirth. "You looked _very_ stupid."

"I _felt_ stupid!"

"And then you flopped around, looking all the world like the biggest fish person to ever try to fly."

"I don't know what I was thinking."

"Not much."

I snorted. "Ah, nice to know you'll always be my number one fan," I said sarcastically.

Before she could answer, James answered us with our lineup. Sirius would start, I would go second, Mary would go next, and Marlene would "bring us to glory!"

We had to run this "at least once," according to James, if we wanted a shot at beating the Slytherins. Although, from what I could tell, it was as though they had completely forgotten about our game of Hippogriff. They were still huddled up off to the side of the pitch, probably trading dark magic jinxes. Judging by the amount of times I'd heard Bellatrix cackle, I wouldn't be surprised if she were giving everyone a cackling lesson.

I flew down to the green behind my teammates. Hippogriff, James had taught me, began on the ground. "Before broomsticks, wizards played this game on actual hippogriffs, hence the name. We added Bludgers and Snitches as time went on."

I'm glad someone knew their Hippogriff history. (Perhaps it had been the subject of today's History of Magic lesson, since I'd never heard of it before, and I'd skived off for the first time this afternoon.)

The first flyer has to take a running start and then hop on their brooms mid-run and go up fifty feet into the air where the relay should be run. As the second flyer, I don't have to take a running start, but I can't leave the ground until Sirius is in the air himself.

James made us run the play, and it went fairly well, though our Captain reminded us that we'd just raced without any Bludgers being deliberately aimed at our persons. To which Sirius and Marlene just grinned, apparently enthused about being able to aim at our own opponents.

It was at this moment that I turned to Sirius and said, "So wanna go get your cousin?"

We were back on the green, and he had been leaning rather grandly on his broomstick. He raised one eyebrow at me, his previously flushed and sparkling cheeks paling at the thought. "Do you?"

"No need to fight over me, _children_ ," snarled Bellatrix from behind Sirius. She shot me a toothy sneer. "Look at you! You've been practicing all day, haven't you?"

Her Slytherin cronies flew down behind her: Mulciber, Nott, Yaxley. No sign of Severus.

She sniffed the air in disgust. "My, I don't know whether to be _frightened_ of your tenacity, or to take pleasure in the fact that you're _terrified_." Like a punchline, she cackled.

Flames of rage curled in my gut. "Don't flatter yourself," I said, my eyes narrowing to dangerous slits.

She only grinned, as though I had just proved her right.

Then, from the depths of curiosity hell, Frank Longbottom appeared, notepad and quill in hand. "What's going on?" he asked.

Oh, for Merlin's sake.

"Why don't you stick around and find out, Longbottom, old boy?" answered an overly cheerful Pettigrew.

Frank looked absolutely delighted, flashing a victorious grin framed by an honest-to-Merlin five-o'clock shadow. The bloke was barely _seventeen_ , having had his birthday in late August. I would never understand how he convinced Alice Prewett to go out with him fifth year—she'd been out of Hogwarts two years already and they were still going steady—but I knew it partly had to do with his impressive facial hair.

And maybe his baby blue eyes. They were piercing in the sunlight.

"I believe we're on for a match, then," announced Sirius, having turned around to face Bellatrix.

"A match?" asked Frank, and he was lost in a flurry of quill scratching and eyebrow furrowing.

James nodded over at Pettigrew, and his fair-haired mate seemed to know exactly what to do. He led Frank away by the shoulders, chatting all the while. "It's a House match of Hippogriff, Longbottom. Very serious stuff."

Bellatrix sneered, her beady eyes following Frank's figure with disgust. Mulciber, Yaxley, and Nott formed a tight huddle around her, and Yaxley reached out to grab her shoulder, which she shook off with a glare in his direction. He pulled back his hand as though it had been burned.

James walked towards Bellatrix and gestured over to Sirius and me, then pointed to himself. Bellatrix responded by grinning so hugely, she seemed almost to transform into another person entirely. She raised a single finger in the air, and down flew none other than Sev.

I felt all the air go out of my lungs.

"What's he doing here?" I whispered to a nearby Mary.

"He must be their referee," she answered.

Another figure flew down beside him. Dorcas Meadowes. She was a Ravenclaw girl who often studied with Severus.

"What's _she_ doing here?" Jen asked, echoing my sentiments about Severus towards Dorcas.

Well, this was just shaping up to be the biggest headache of my life. Jen stopped talking to Dorcas after she refused to take sides when Severus called me a you-know-what in front of everyone fifth year. Eventually, Dorcas just took to avoiding the lot of us.

And anytime we had anything with Ravenclaw, Jen would make a big show of making faces at her. I'd been trying to get her to drop it for ages, but Jen always followed up with—

"That girl has no sense of loyalty, not to mention dignity!"

That.

"She'll be Snape's second, I imagine," Mary said, then gave a low whistle. "At least it's not another Slytherin."

"It's worse," retorted Jen bitterly.

I put a hand on her shoulder. "None of that now, Jen," I began, but in vain.

She cut me off with a death glare. "She _took his side_ , Lily! Doesn't that mean anything?"

I sighed. How many times did we have to go through this? "She didn't take _anyone's_ side. She didn't want to."

Jen rounded on me, her eyes narrowing to dangerous slits. "Rubbish! She didn't want to make an uncomfortable decision, so _I_ made it for her. I don't understand how you can keep defending her!"

I bit my lip. I knew part of what she'd said was true. I hadn't exactly gone out of my way to continue my friendship with Dorcas, but I didn't make my hurt known to her at every opportunity, either.

"I'm not defending her, I just don't think it's good for you to keep holding on to this, Jen."

She made a very unhappy noise in the back of her throat.

"Hippogriff, hip-hip!" called the slightly Amplified voice of James Potter. The antiquated chant was also held over from the time wizards played this sport on actual hippogriffs.

We all turned our heads in his direction and made our way towards a Spelled starting line in the green. James quickly explained that he and Severus would referee from the ground while Dorcas and Jen would referee from the air.

Crikey; two pairs of diametrically opposed foes having to work together. I almost felt sick.

Jen directed a glare at Dorcas, and her cheeks tinged pink, but she made no other acknowledgement. I wondered briefly why she had agreed to join the match.

I looked over at Severus only to catch him staring at me, but he quickly averted his gaze. I felt that same panic from earlier begin to settle in my stomach.

I tried to think really quickly about something—anything—that would get me out of this. My pulse was quickening and deafening in my ears. I was overcome by an uncomfortable warmth and began to pull at the neck of my robes.

James, Severus, and Bellatrix got into a bit of an argument over something, but I couldn't pay attention.

The blood was draining from my face, my throat was suddenly parched, and all at once my body ached from all the flying I'd already done that day.

"Alright, Lily?" Remus asked me softly.

I tried to smile and failed miserably. "Fine," I said, not quite looking him in the eye. "Just trying to, er—focus."

He nodded, though I could tell he didn't quite believe me. He turned to an old, rusting trunk and opened it. It was the trunk James had showed me earlier, with all the Bludgers and Beaters' bats.

Oh, sweet Merlin.

What if I wasn't so lucky with a Bludger my second-go-round?

More and more, I wished for something to stop this—I was way in over my head! It was too much, too soon!

Then I heard James's voice in my head. _"It's alright, Lily."_

I'd been staring at the trunk so long that I had to tear my eyes away from them when Mary began to herd me to the second position behind the Starting Line. I turned to my left to see which Slytherin flyer would also be flying in second position.

It was Alexander Nott.

Behind Nott stood Bellatrix. She treated me to her trademark gesture of dragging a long finger threateningly across her neck.

My blood ran cold as I realized exactly what I'd gotten myself into.

" _You'll pay for this_ ," they'd said.

Then James and Severus both called out in unison: "On your marks, get set, go!"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please keep Lily in your thoughts. She is thoroughly freaking out.


	7. Hippogriff, hip hip!

To any outsider, this might have appeared like any amateur, friendly game of Hippogriff between two opposing Houses (with the exception of Dorcas), but to everyone on the inside of this match, it was more than that—so much more.

For me, this was a matter of protecting my honor as a Muggleborn against a group of awful blood purists.

Then again, this match wasn't about me—it was about something much bigger.

As Sirius ran and kicked off the ground, I attempted to zero in on the moment—the little things I needed to focus on in order to win this thing so these devils on brooms couldn't call me a Mudblood and get away with it.

Breath in, breathe out. Watch Sirius. Watch Yaxley. Send a Bludger up in the air towards Yaxley.

Breathe in, breathe out. Watch Yaxley dodge the Bludger. Watch as a Bludger nearly hits Sirius in the back of the head. Pass my Beater's bat to Mary. Watch Mary's Bludger hit the tail of Yaxley's broom. Watch Yaxley get knocked off course momentarily.

Breathe in, breathe out. Watch Sirius.

Breathe in, breathe out. Grip my broom handle.

"Hippogriff, hip hip!" called James, and I knew that was my signal to kick up and get ready for The Handoff.

My hands were shaking, the slight trembling causing me to spin a bit tighter than usual as I ascended. As soon as I stretched out my hand, however, Sirius deposited a struggling Golden Snitch into it, and I was off.

A few moments later, Nott was on my tail. I was zipping through students, the vast majority of whom had caught on to the spectacle of our game and had decided to call all kinds of daft things after us.

"Pay the toll!" a Hufflepuff boy said, leaning forward with puckered up lips.

Needless to say, I pushed him away rather roughly and was slightly pleased to hear him yelp in surprise.

I didn't have much time to entertain any other sort of tomfoolery. Glancing back, I noticed Nott was using my drag to his advantage, as he stuck closely behind me.

I shot him a glare and began to zigzag through the air instead, just to throw him off balance.

It seemed to work, but only for a few seconds, and only out of sheer surprise.

Suddenly, a sharp whistling caught my attention and I dipped down and out of the way of an incoming Bludger.

I grinned to myself in triumph. But I heard a loud crack of what could only have been bone and an even louder scream from behind me. I turned back to see that Nott had been hit in the side in such a way that his arm was now dangling at an awkward angle from his side, and he'd released his Snitch.

I gasped as his grip loosened from his broom. It was like I was watching it all in slow-motion: his eyes squeezing tight in pain, his mouth opening to groan, only everything had gone quiet, his robes swirling around him like a dozen ravens pulling him to the ground.

I'd stopped flying. I was dumbstruck. I didn't know what to do! I gaped in horror as he somehow continued to fall to the ground. I searched the sky around me, and then the rest of the grounded flyers. Was no one else going to help him?

I was only a few yards away from the point of descent. I could just continue to fly, win my round of the relay race, and not be bothered that Nott was falling to his doom.

Only, I knew what that felt like, and it was only by some miracle that I was able to stop myself from knocking on death's door at so early an age.

I had very little time and space to make a decision.

I blinked and zoomed towards him, flying as hard as I could, faster than I ever had before towards Nott, towards the ground.

I just had to get him before he hit the ground.

If I could do that, if I could just save him—

My hair whipped around my face furiously as I reached both arms in front of me, anchoring myself on the broom with my legs, and reached around Nott's descending figure. I pulled him to me and managed to pull my broom up just before we both met with sticky ends on the green of the pitch, but only just.

I'd managed to slow our descent; however, we still had a rough landing on the grass, sliding for a few feet, our bodies uprooting the grass and no doubt staining our robes.

Mary ran towards me, screaming, "Lily, let go of the Snitch!"

Oh, right.

I opened my right hand and the Snitch flew out of my hand. I heard Mary groan and fly off on her broom, presumably to finish the match.

Nott was sprawled on his back, groaning in pain. I rolled off of him. "Nott, are you okay?"

He only grumbled in reply, his eyes rolling in his head.

"Can you sit up? You need to elevate your arm, or you'll lose it."

He grumbled again.

"Sorry?" I said.

A rush of running footsteps made its way towards us.

"Lily, get back to the starting line!" called an agitated James.

He looked furious.

"Nott needs to go to the Hospital Wing straight away!" I retorted.

"Obviously," he snapped.

Severus had taken to helping Nott sit up and was currently attempting to elevate the afflicted arm.

I pulled out my wand to cast a Cushion Charm for Nott's arm, but James put his hand up and blocked me.

"Oi, we're in the middle of a match here!" he roared. "Get back to the starting line!"

More than incensed, I boiled over. "You're joking, right? You can't really think this stupid match is more important than a student receiving proper medical care?"

He pushed his glasses onto the bridge of his nose. "Unbelievable. Of course you would think that." He sighed as though I were trying his patience. "Nott will be fine. Now go back, Lily. Your team is waiting for you."

He'd emphasized the word "team" as though trying to make me feel guilty about helping someone from the opposing team.

Honestly! This balderdash coming from Captain Safety First!

I jut out my chin and narrowed my eyes so he knew that even though I said, "Fine!" I didn't actually mean it. I turned and ran back to the starting line.

Marlene, Sirius, Yaxley, and Mulciber were on the green practically peddling Bludger after returning Bludger into the sky indiscriminately. A few of the Bludgers would hit unsuspecting students and for the most part, no real harm was done, but after the damage one of those Bludgers did to Nott, I was in no mood to be so reckless.

As soon as I stood next to Marlene, she shot me an unsmiling glance, pushed her Beater's bat into my hand, and took off to meet Mary in the Handoff Zone.

Immediately, a wave of embarrassment washed over me. I glanced over at Sirius to gauge his reaction, but he was too concentrated on aiming an incoming Bludger just right.

"Sirius," I began, but the sound of another Bludger caught his attention instead. He hit it so hard that his bat cracked in half.

"Blimey!" he exclaimed. Remus threw him another bat as Sirius tossed his broken bat to the ground. Yaxley and Mulciber shot Sirius nearly identical looks of disgust. They were of the opinion that spellwork would always be superior to brute force—it was part of their blood purist ideology.

As though reading their minds, Remus Spelled the split bat so that it mended itself.

Sirius rolled his shoulders back and ran forward to catch the next Bludger and hit it back into the sky.

"Evans, get your head in the game!" Sirius said, pointing at a Bludger that seemed to be coming in just between Mulciber and me.

Well, shit.

I ran as fast as I could and practically pulled my shoulder out of its socket as I hurled my bat in the general direction of the Bludger. Instead, my bat connected with Mulciber's face.

"FUCKING HELL!" he screamed, dropping his Beater's bat as both hands went to his face.

"I'm so sorry!" I screamed back, horrified at what I'd done.

"You stupid, filthy bitch!" he yelled.

There was blood streaming from his nose. I heard a blow above me as Sirius managed to hit the Bludger away from our heads.

"Cheers," I called over to him, but he was already running on the pitch to meet the next falling Bludger.

Despite his insults, I pulled out my wand to cast some first aid charms on Mucliber's nose, but he snarled and said, "Over my dead body will a Mudblood treat me!"

"Mate, you might be dead if she doesn't!" said Sirius as he ran past us.

I shrugged back at Mulciber coldly. "If he doesn't want my help, fine. The world might be a better place without him." I knew I was being petty, but I didn't care.

He glared at me. "It's not as though a broken nose ever killed anybody." He sneered, then grimaced in pain. "Fuck!"

I shrugged again, showing no pity, and joined Sirius.

Mary, having successfully handed off the Snitch to Marlene, touched down near Mulciber and picked up his abandoned Beater's bat.

"Where's James gone?" she asked, making small talk as we jogged around the field, beating the Bludgers back up into the sky, aiming for Bellatrix.

I pointed towards the edge of the pitch, where he and Severus were dragging an increasingly unconscious Nott to the stands. I wondered how that conversation had gone.

"Also, what happened to Mulciber's face?"

"Me," I answered. "This whole thing's been a complete disaster!"

Mary shot me a confused look. "It's been bloody brilliant!" she said. "Now Mulciber's going to have to fly the last leg of the race with blood pouring out of his face!"

"Oh, FUCK!" screamed Mulciber from behind us.

We turned just in time to see him scramble for his broom and fly up to meet Bellatrix. She was screaming at him from the air. Marlene was nearly a quarter of the way around the pitch by then.

"Bloody troll!" cursed Bellatrix as she touched down. Remus offered her the recently mended bat, and she grabbed it from him brusquely, but not before saying, "Give that here, you utter waste of space!"

If there were any phrase to describe Sirius as he ran back to her and effectively slapped her across the face, it would be "mad with rage."

"You filthy blood-traitor!" she screamed, pulling out her wand.

Of course. If we thought we could settle our differences with a game, we had been sorely mistaken.

"How dare you lay a hand on me?!" she continued. Then, she leaned towards Sirius and actually spat on him.

The sound of a nearing Bludger preoccupied me from seeing what was next, as I hit it away from me and towards an empty square of sky above us, but when I looked back at the feuding cousins, they were engaged in a full-frontal duel, spells ricocheting back and forth between them. As Sirius's friend, I was more than impressed, and willed him to win.

As Head Girl, however, I should probably stop this.

Yaxley was nearly on the other side of the pitch, having followed an incoming Bludger all the way there.

Mary was busy with the Bludgers on our side of the pitch, so it was with great guilt that I said, "You alright on your own?"

She was covered in a sheen of sweat, her normally feathered blonde hair sticking to her forehead in frizzy swirls. She glanced over at the Blacks and raised her eyebrows. "Just stop them before one of them gets killed!"

I handed her my bat, and she smiled, tackling a Bludger with both bats, and it went straight up in the air. Her smile turned into a grimace, but she waved me off, and I ran to Sirius's side.

"Expelliarmus!" I shouted, and their wands flew out of their hands and into mine.

Bellatrix growled. "Stay out of affairs that don't concern you, Mudblood."

"Twenty points from both your houses!" I said, ignoring her. "You know dueling is strictly forbidden outside the safety of the Dueling Club or without direct supervision from a professor."

Sirius rounded on me. "I almost had her!" he growled under his breath.

I could definitely tell they were related.

"Unless you wanted to be expelled, it's best that you didn't," I replied.

"HIPPOGRIFF, HIP HIP!" called Marlene from above us. Sirius ran to the starting line—now the finish line—and held out his hand.

Marlene and Mulciber began their respective descents to the finish line, as Yaxley bolted from the other side of the pitch to meet Mulciber.

As he approached, Mulciber cried, "HIPPOGRIFF, HIP HIP!"

He made it just in time to receive the Snitch from his teammate, but Marlene and Sirius had them beat by a half second.

Or at least, that's what I saw.

"It's a draw!" shouted Bellatrix.

"My arse it's a draw!" yelled Sirius. "We won fair and square!"

"I did my disco arms!" added Marlene. "Why would I do disco arms if it had been a draw?"

Good point, Marlene.

"Where the bleeding fuck are our referees?" asked an irate Mulciber, wiping the blood from his face onto the sleeve of his robes.

Mary gestured vaguely to James and Severus, who were currently running as fast as they could to our side of the pitch. I could make out the vague figure of Madame Hooch leaning over a slumped Nott at the edge of the pitch behind them.

"I don't think maiming half my team was fair, Cousin!" Bellatrix screamed.

Sirius scoffed. "If you're referring to the Bludger you aimed at Evans—you know, the one she skillfully evaded, the very same one that then knocked Nott off his own broom, the idiot—then I think you'll find that that was very fair, Cousin."

Bellatrix's usually high-pitched cackle turned into a high-pitched scream of frustration. "Well, it certainly wasn't friendly fire that mutilated Mulciber's face!"

"That was an accident, and I already apologized," I said.

"Evans, shut up!" howled Sirius, dragging a palm down his cheek.

Suddenly, a slow smile settled onto her face as something like calm graced her features. "Was it now?"

I was very confused. I opened my mouth to answer in the affirmative, but James cut me off.

"Hold it!" he said. "Who won?"

"Nice of you to bloody show up," Mulciber murmured.

"You shouldn't split your infinitives," piped up Remus.

"Did you hear something?" said Bellatrix. "I thought I heard a fly in my ear. It was certainly annoying."

"Careful," warned Sirius, stepping on his tiptoes in anticipation of any reason to go after her.

"Enough," I said, attempting to take charge of the situation. "We're split on who's won. Too bad neither of you were here to call it."

"Bit busy," replied James curtly.

He was still cross with me. Whatever.

Jen and Dorcas touched down then.

"Who won, then? I swore I saw Marlene get to Sirius first, but this nutter says it was Mulciber, and I know I'm not barmy." Jen was chattering a million miles a minute.

"I didn't see it clear enough, that's all I said," Dorcas clarified.

Jen rolled her eyes resentfully at her as Bellatrix interjected with "Ha!"

"Perhaps we should appeal to a neutral party," suggested Severus. "I think we might find a more discerning eye with Longbottom."

I couldn't even find a reason to refute him.

James Amplified his voice and called out to him. He'd been sitting in the stands with Pettigrew as a spectator, the latter no doubt filling him on the context of the match. I hoped he'd had the sense not to mention the (very llegal) bet on which the result entirely depended.

Having had their brooms with them, it wasn't long before Pettigrew and Longbottom were descending onto the green before us.

"You called?" smirked Longbottom.

"We seem to be having a bit of a disagreement," Severus answered.

"Oh?" said Longbottom, and he took out his notepad.

"Off the record, of course," amended James, and Longbottom frowned, his arms resting by his side as he ceased to write.

Marlene scoffed, impatient as always. "Frank, from your perspective, who won?"

His frown seemed to deepen, if that were possible. "I—er, let me check my notes—" He rifled through his notepad, muttering indecipherable musings to himself. Finally, he looked up at us, eyes wide and full of fear. "I—I didn't see it."

He was met with a chorus of groans.

"Oh, come on!"

"You call yourself a journalist!"

"Were you asleep up there or something?"

"This is fucking bullshit!"

Longbottom blanched, regret etched all over his face. Then, he called our attention to Pettigrew. "Peter was the one telling me what was going on, and I was writing it all down."

Naturally, everyone turned their anger and frustration on Pettigrew.

"Well?" said Bellatrix.

Pettigrew seemed to shrink somewhat at all the negative attention. "Er—I was going to ask you. I was too far away to really see it."

"Merlin have mercy," I said, as those around me strung very colorful swears and expletives together in the manner of light hitting a prism.

James and Severus had broken off, presumably to deliberate. I was more than a little impressed by their civility, especially on James's part.

"This is mad! Why are we even having this debate?" said Sirius. "Marlene clearly got to me and touched down first!"

The only person who hadn't yet voiced their opinion on who had or hadn't won was Remus.

"Remus," I said, a hint of curiosity in my voice. "You didn't happen to see who won, did you?"

"Oh, yes," he answered.

Sirius stopped his ranting, his ears perking up at the sound of Remus's voice. Then, Marlene followed his eyes, and as I asked him, "Who did you see, then?" the general tumult of outrage quieted down enough until nearly everyone's attention was on Remus.

His cheeks flushed with the attention. "Marlene got the Snitch in Sirius's hand first, but Mulciber touched the ground first."

"But the Snitch is the important bit, mate," started Marlene excitedly. "Which means Remus saw us win, too!"

"He's biased!" cried Bellatrix. "He's in your House!"

"So is Longbottom, but you were willing to give his opinion credibility!" I retorted.

Her jet-black curls danced around her face wildly. "Longbottom wouldn't lie, unlike this half-caste mutt!" she exclaimed, a hand jutting out violently to point disgustedly at Remus.

I'm sure my eyes flashed huge warning signs, because Bellatrix actually tensed when she trained her eyes on me. "That 'half-caste mutt,' as you so call him, has more integrity in one of his words than you will ever be capable of uttering! I am so sick of your stupid blood purity bullshit making victims out of anyone that doesn't resemble an inbred bicorn like you!" I shouted, the fury I felt coiling in my stomach, coursing through my veins, and attaching like sharp barbs to every word I directed her way.

Everyone's breath seemed to catch, but I was still holding her wand, and she was powerless against me.

"I WANT A REMATCH!" she bellowed in my face.

I stepped towards her so that she could see it clearly when I smiled and said, "Gladly."

I'd rattled her. Her eyes flashed with anger and she took advantage of our proximity to snatch her wand out of my hand.

I raised an eyebrow in challenge. If she wanted to duel, she was risking more than just House points and a detention. I was ready for the kill. (Figuratively.)

Madame Hooch blew her whistle, however, signaling the end of the period, and we were surrounded by students as they crowded the field, dragging their brooms towards the broom shed, calling out, "Nice Wronski, Evans!" and "Sign me up for the next match!" and the never-ending chants of "HIPPOGRIFF, HIP HIP!"

In the flurry of passing students, Bellatrix and her stupid cronies had made off and disappeared, leaving the rest of us in their wake.

I offered Sirius's wand back to him, and he took it back, observing me curiously. "I think I misjudged you, Evans," he said.

Remus came over to me and held out a hand, businesslike. "Thank you for what you said. It was very kind of you."

Sirius rolled his eyes. He grabbed him by the shoulders from behind and led him away, muttering, "C'mon, you beautiful and hopeless twit."

James said, "I think you've just volunteered us for a rematch." There wasn't a hint of humor in his voice.

I grimaced. "I was just trying to put Black in her place."

"It's a good thing Snape and I had already discussed it, or you might be left coaching a team on your own."

Oh.

He walked away, shaking his head. What was he so furious about? Wasn't he proud of all that we'd accomplished in a day? It was his victory, too!

"Hey!" I cried, running after him. "Why are you so angry?"

He turned to me, his hazel eyes squinting in the sun. "You're still just an amateur at this, Lily."

"Is this because I chose to save Nott instead of finishing my leg of the race?" I asked, incredulity pouring from my very being. "Because if caring about another person's wellbeing—even if they're on the other team—if that's amateurish, then I refuse to evolve!"

He pinched the bridge of his nose. "No, I don't care that you risked our win today, I don't care that you helped an opponent, I don't care that you didn't finish a whole leg of a race—"

"—Then why are you so—"

He took a step towards me. "I care that you're as safe as possible. You aren't as experienced a flyer to pull off what you did, Lily. You can't just go rocketing towards the ground whenever you feel like it just because you've managed it once."

"Well, obviously, I can, because it worked!" I said.

"No, you got lucky. If you'd been off by a second—"

"But I wasn't!" I interrupted. "And I was careful! I did everything you taught me! I thought at the very least you might have been proud of that."

"Don't you understand?" he said. "You didn't have to go after him at all, Lily! It wasn't worth the risk!"

"What else was I supposed to do, James? He could have died!"

"YOU COULD HAVE DIED!" he shouted. "Because you don't know that when another player falls off their broom, you're supposed to cast an Immobulus Charm on them so that they freeze midair! That way you don't have to kill yourself in the process!"

"WELL YOU NEVER TAUGHT ME THAT!" I said hotly.

He groaned. "I didn't think I'd have to! It's common sense!"

I took a step back and stared at him. "No, it's not. I don't have your background, James. It isn't my first instinct. I don't know if it ever will be."

I was, of course, referring to the fact that James's frame of reference would always be to cast a spell on a problem, because that's how he grew up. My frame of reference is a bit more jumbled up, a bit of a mixed bag. Sometimes, solutions come to me the Muggle way. Sometimes, magic seems superfluous to me. Sometimes, the Wizarding World makes things more complicated than it would have to be if it were at all acquainted with modern Muggle technology.

We'd just gone to the moon, for Merlin's sake!

James sighed, and looked down. "Just don't do it again," he said. Without waiting for a response, he walked over to his mates, picking up spare bats and Bludgers along the way.

Jen and Mary sidled up to me and rubbed soothing circles on my back.

"Phwoar," said Mary. "The last time I saw the two of you like that, it was over some mistletoe he'd enchanted to follow you until you agreed to let him kiss you."

Jen burst into peals of laughter. "I remember that! What year was it?"

"Fifth year," answered Marlene, smiling widely.

I frowned. "Did I really muck up as badly as he says I did?"

She shrugged. "He's a captain. You're a wildcard. It makes him nervous."

I nodded.

"But it was brilliant," she continued. "While James was cursing up a storm, I couldn't believe what I was seeing. My own bunkmate, showing me up on the Quidditch pitch!" She laughed and threw an arm around me.

"It was very admirable," Jen allowed. "If a bit reckless."

I rolled my eyes.

Mary laughed. "I'm so pleased you decided to play Hippogriff with us, Lily! It's certainly turned out so much more exciting with you on the team!"

"Let's hope she makes it through the next match. She'll have a target on her back, after that little argument with Black," said Jen.

I shot her a look of amused disbelief. "Pretty sure the target's been there all along, Jen."

We laughed and chatted, dragging our broomsticks to the shed at the edge of the pitch. It was here that we reunited with the Marauders and the old, rusting trunk of Hippogriff equipment.

"So when's the next match?" asked Pettigrew jovially.

"Dunno," answered Sirius, biting his thumbnail. "Next week, I reckon."

Suddenly, my stomach growled so loudly, my cheeks heated in embarrassment.

Sirius raised his eyebrows, amused. "I think it's time for dinner!"

Marlene lifted her arms and sniffed her armpits, then pulled a face. "I think it's time for a shower!"

Right on, Marlene. Right on.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Let's be honest: Marlene isn't the only smelly racer in that broom shed in need of a freshening up! :) Anyway, I hope you're enjoying the story so far!


	8. I don't believe in the mind-body split

Friday morning, James and I got called into to the office of our Head of House, Professor McGonagall. I was shaking the entire trek there, which was just two short strides out of the Fat Lady's portrait and a few turns down the corridor, but it might as well have been miles.

"OhmyGodric, we're going to get expelled! We're the worst Heads of Everything That Has Ever Been and Ever Will Be ever!" I whined, wringing my wrists in total panic.

James fixed me with a look that clearly said he thought I'd gone bonkers. "Lily, relax. I'm sure it's normal and boring Head business as usual."

"What if she asks about our emergency meeting during History of Magic yesterday?" I asked, a completely new wave of panic taking over me. "You know—the one that wasn't real and we made up so we could practice Hippogriff on the Quidditch pitch?"

James chuckled. "Knowing Minnie, I don't think she'd mind that, actually."

The unrelieved worry must have been tying my face into knots in addition to my stomach, because one look at me, and James sighed. "It's okay—if things go off in there, just follow my lead."

I still wasn't convinced.

He rolled his eyes. "I really don't think Professor Binns would have cared enough to say anything to our Head of House, Lily. Or even noticed we were missing. I've taken his class for seven years, and the man still calls me Geronimo Podmore."

I had to stifle a giggle as we had reached McGonagall's door. I took a deep breath and wrapped my hand tentatively around the doorknob. "Here goes nothing."

I turned the knob and we made our way inside. The office of Gryffindor Head of House was bedecked in as much scarlet and gold as the common room.

I imagined Godric himself in this room, sitting imposingly behind the dark, stocky medieval desk on the throne-like, high-backed chair, gold buttons tufting red velvet along the cushions. The sight would have been even more striking at sunset, when the stained glass windows behind the desk would have backlit the scene, creating an impressive silhouette of the man as he sat regally on his chair.

In fact, a portrait of the Hogwarts Founder in this very apartment hung to our right, flanked by golden sconces. The chair and desk were the same, but in the portrait, the room held an array of golden objects, including four very ornate golden chairs sitting in front of the desk, rich scarlet carpets and drapes, and a large, mahogany cabinet in the corner of the room displaying a grand sword collection. The portrait hung in the original place of a beautifully woven tapestry depicting the god Helios as he dragged the sun across the sky in his chariot.

McGonagall had taken extra pains to downplay the over-the-top royalty Godric demanded in his own office. Apart from a pair of chest of drawers on either side of the room and bookcases lining the walls, the room was rather bare. Before the desk sat two modest, yet plump, scarlet armchairs, looking as though they would not be out of place in the Gryffindor common room. Upon the desk, a simple inkwell, candelabra, and writing parchment were set out.

Strangest of all the things in the room—and perhaps this was a testament to McGonagall's commitment to her professorship—was a standing blackboard panel, tucked away to the side of the throne-like chair upon which she sat.

"Ah, Mister Potter, Miss Evans. Do have a seat." She gestured vaguely at the armchairs before her, and peered up at us from her reading glasses. The frames were in the shape of cat eyes.

I really wanted to tell her I liked them, but held my tongue until I knew what this meeting was about, and took my seat.

"I trust you are well rested," she said, all burr and no sympathy in her tone.

"Aye," answered James, and I threw a sidelong glance at him, half in intrigue, half in warning. Like, yeah, okay, it's super hilarious to be Scottish at our Scottish professor, but it's probably not the best idea if she's about to give us the flogging of our lives!

McGonagall didn't seem to mind, though, and set her eyes on me.

I blinked, looking away. "Er, yes, Ma'am. Thank you for asking."

She nodded and very delicately pushed her glasses up the bridge of her nose, sitting back in her chair. "Right. Well, our business this morning is very short. It has come to the attention of the Headmaster that our Head Boy and Head Girl, that is to say, the pair of you, are doing very well with the _experimental_ "—she rolled her eyes in clear distaste and I had to bite my lip to keep from laughing—"Operation Fire Dragon. He wishes to thank you for your continued commitment to the program. However, in light of Mister Nott's injury yesterday, he should like to pass along that any future games of Hippogriff are strictly forbidden. I trust you will share this information with your classmates in a timely fashion."

James cleared his throat. "If I may, Professor?"

McGonagall pursed her lips, but waved her hand at him in the affirmative.

"Professor, the Headmaster had to have known that injuries like Nott's were bound to happen, Hippogriff or not. Though we're doing our best to be as safe as possible on the pitch, we're flying with amateur Beaters batting at Bludgers in every direction. What happened to Nott was an accident, but we were able to mend his arm on site, and Madame Pomfrey assured me he would be out of the Hospital Wing by the end of the day, fully recovered."

McGonagall raised her eyebrows, but made no other suggestion of her feelings. "Be that as it may, Potter, I'm afraid the ruling on this is final. The School Governors made the amendment to the program. It is quite out of our hands."

James slumped down in his chair in defeat. "I understand."

McGonagall nodded in sympathy. She turned her green eyes on me and I froze, every reason for panic overloading my brain. But instead of asking me if I had skived off yesterday, she merely said, "If that is all?"

I nodded mutely.

"Very well. I shall see you both in class this afternoon."

James got up from his seat. "See you then, Professor."

I made my way towards the door behind James. We'd done it! We'd gotten away with skiving off! I could finally breathe!

Suddenly McGonagall called out, "Oh, and Miss Evans!"

I turned around, feeling like a doe caught in headlights, my eyes wide and waiting for the guillotine to drop.

I was so dead.

McGonagall smiled. _She actually smiled._

Oh Merlin, maybe I really _was_ dead!

"Yes?" I croaked, for lack of anything better to say.

"Your upturn needs some more finessing, but you pull off quite the Wronski."

I blinked.

She smiled again.

AGAIN!

"Good work," she said.

"Er, thank you."

"Well, then. Please close the door behind you." She pulled open a drawer and busied herself with searching for something or other.

"Of course, Professor."

James had been waiting in the doorway, and he was grinning like a total tosser. I closed the door behind myself as instructed and made it all the way around the corner before I exploded.

"I. CANNOT. BELIEVE. WHAT JUST. HAPPENED!" I began.

He laughed.

"I'm serious!"

"I know, it was a lot," he agreed. "But she complimented your flying." He knocked our shoulders together, teasing and smirking. The stupid, blooming feeling in my chest started up again. " _That's_ rare. Ancient-dragon-egg-hatching rare."

"I thought for sure she was going to give us a demerit for skiving off yesterday!" I said, trying to calm my racing heart as the feeling of warmth spread from the shoulder he'd knocked to my fingertips.

"Shh! Not so loud!" James teased. "The walls can talk, you know."

I snorted, eyeing a nearby portrait of two knights dancing drunkenly in a herd of sheep. "Fortunately, they don't care. Oh, I'm so relieved!" I exclaimed. "I felt like I was holding my breath the whole time we were in there."

"You might have been. We were only in there for three minutes."

I frowned. "Oh, blimey. I just realized—" I cut myself off with a groan.

"What?" he asked.

I swallowed thickly, my nerves overwhelming whatever warmth his stupid shoulder might have previously provided. "How are we supposed to tell everyone that Hippogriff is no longer allowed? Black asked for a rematch, and now—conveniently—it's forbidden?"

James shrugged. "She'll get over it."

"No, she'll just find new ways to torture me. At least with this, there was a chance that I could beat her, and she and her whole lot of blood purists would have to live by the terms of our agreement."

James chewed on his lower lip. "And what were the terms of your agreement, exactly?"

I scrunched up my face in thought. I couldn't really remember! It had all just happened so fast! "I—I think they just have to stop calling me Mudblood."

All of a sudden, James looked thunderous. "Unbelievable," he said under his breath. "So if they won, I assume they could call you that without consequence?"

I nodded, feeling as though perhaps the entire ordeal had been worthless. I mean, not getting called Mudblood wasn't a guarantee they wouldn't continue to harass me or other Muggleborns in the school.

A bitter smile curled at his full lips and he said, "If they decide they want to settle their rematch in a different way, I think you'll have grounds for new terms. And if I were you, I'd think really hard about what I really wanted."

When we got to the Fat Lady, James decided he needed to do some things before breakfast, so we parted ways and I walked down seven floors—see? What exactly is the _point of Operation Fire Dragon?!_ —to the Great Hall.

For the second time that week, I found myself on the front page of Frank Longbottom's school zine, the headline reading: WRONKSI WARRIOR STRIKES AGAIN. That headline alone made me feel like a superhero. Or possibly, a super villain, depending on what Frank had written.

I plucked a copy out of Frank's proffered hands and made my way to the Gryffindor table.

I heard him call out a, "Thanks again, Evans!" and I responded with a wave of my hand in acknowledgement.

I was absolutely transfixed by the front page. The photograph depicted my dive after Nott and the graceless crash-landing onto the pitch. The caption read: "Head Girl Lily Evans saves Alexander Nott from certain death with sophisticated flying techniques during Operation Fire Dragon, Hogwarts's leading flying programme."

I skimmed the article, noting that it described our game of Hippogriff in exciting detail, and if I weren't myself, I would have thought this Lily Evans person was downright heroic.

But I _am_ me, and it was disconcerting to be painted as this accomplished flying athlete when I literally just picked up on the concept of flying overnight.

It sounds impressive, but all that I'd learned was the product of a determined student and a very patient coach in the form of James Potter.

Which was a bit surprising, considering he was otherwise a tosser in every respect.

I piled a bit of egg, beans, sausage, and toast on my plate, figuring I'd have time for a full English this morning, considering how early James and I had received our owls to meet McGonagall. It would be another twenty minutes or so before the rest of my mates showed up.

In the meantime, I could enjoy the time alone with my breakfast and the zine that loved to praise me. I spelled it to prop itself open so I could read while I ate.

The "WRONKSI WARRIOR" article went on to chronicle the success of Operation Fire Dragon, and continued to cover the controversy over its status as a requirement for graduation.

In the corner, Frank had added an aside about how the program seemed to be cultivating inter-house relations, and specified that "James Potter and Severus Snape, known rivals of opposing houses, Gryffindor and Slytherin respectively, cooperated as referees of the inter-house game of Hippogriff," and then went on to speculate whether this could be a sign of waning enmity despite the divisiveness of the war outside the walls of Hogwarts.

I rolled my eyes. What was the point of Pettigrew? Hadn't he told Longbottom that the match was agreed upon as the stage for our enmity to play out?

The article ended thus: "Though both sides competed with great vigor and heroism, the results of the match remain as vague as the question of friendship between two longstanding adversaries, brought together by a game that would have never taken place had it not been for the compulsory flying of Headmaster Dumbledore's Operation Fire Dragon."

Merlin.

I couldn't deny his words didn't have a way about them. Nor could I deny that he made a compelling point—I had witnessed it myself.

James and Severus.

They had worked together, when not three days ago, they were at each other's throats over the environmental repercussions of salt in potions!

It seemed so out of character for the both of them, to have turned the other cheek over a game of Hippogriff. Perhaps it was a Wizarding thing, this game, its rich history—its weird, un-self-conscious chant of "Hippogriff, hip hip!" Perhaps, like all of these things, cooperation was part of the game, and without it—unlike in, say, Quidditch—Hippogriff wasn't Hippogriff.

In any case, if Longbottom really wanted an angle on inter-house relations, he didn't have to look further than Abed Cassimi and Harriet Seabury. They'd worked with James and me on our eggshell powder alternative potion _voluntarily_.

It was nice to know not every Slytherin was a blood purist. Though it would have been rather reductive to think so, or to assume that every Slytherin had a Pureblood heritage.

I wondered vaguely what it must be like to be a Muggleborn in Slytherin House. Lonely, I imagined, and doubtlessly terrifying. I wasn't even in her house, and Bellatrix Black made sure I never forgot where she thought I belonged (six feet under, in case that was unclear).

Remus appeared in my field of vision blinking blearily, and I was forced to focus on the present moment. He sat diagonally across from me and began piling sausages on his plate.

"Morning," I said, smiling encouragingly at him.

He blinked, apparently surprised at my greeting. He gave a bit of a start as though he were going to respond, but instead blurted, "Have you finished with that, Lily? Longbottom's run out of copies." He said that all very fast.

"Oh, sure," I said, folding up the zine and handing it over. "How has he run out of copies?"

"Demand exceeded supply," he explained simply.

This surprised me. "So early in the morning?" Frowning, I turned in my seat to glance at the doors of the Great Hall, which Longbottom usually occupied in the mornings to hand out the latest edition of _The Hogwarts Post_.

Only, he wasn't there.

"I wonder if he could find a professor to help him Duplicate some more copies," I said.

It was against the rules to perform a Duplicate Charm without proper supervision; conjuring a facsimile on a subatomic level was very complicated magic, and any wrong moves could result in the unstable copy catching fire, or exploding, or warping space-time. Therefore, unauthorized Duplicates could get a student writing lines in detention for the rest of their natural Hogwarts lives. Or, if there was any actual damage, they could be expelled.

Remus shook his head. I could almost see him working something out in his mind. "He's been gone too long. Likely he's had to start the magical presses again. Besides, I don't think using a Duplicate Charm to make that many copies would ever be authorized by a professor. The probability of it backfiring would increase per copy."

I loved talking about quantum alchemical mechanics, and so it seemed did Remus. We chatted a bit longer on the exact percentage of failure per degree of separation from an original element before we both tucked into our respective breakfasts.

Noticing Frank hadn't returned yet, I asked, "How long do you think it takes Longbottom to print off a hundred copies?"

Remus didn't reply. I turned back around and found him reading the zine intently, his lips moving slightly as he went, and frowning deeply.

Deciding the conversation was probably over, I took a swig of pumpkin juice to assuage the tense silence that seemed to hug my shoulders like an itchy blanket.

I pulled at the neck of my robes uncomfortably. Then, rather loudly, Remus pushed the zine away from him in a disgusted groan.

"This is—it's . . ." He seemed to have difficulty finding the right words. "It's just not—none of it happened this way."

I smiled wryly at him. "Do you mean to say that I am _not_ a Wronski Warrior?"

He blinked, his Adam's apple bobbing slightly. "Well, you've just learned how to fly."

WHAT?!

I must have looked panicked, because his eyes softened, and a person appeared out of the ice sculpture that had been parading around as Remus Lupin.

"No one else knows," he whispered, leaning in toward me. "I just figured it out."

"How?" I asked, my voice barely audible.

He began counting on his fingers. "You have never shown any aptitude for flying until this week when you suddenly pulled off one of the most technically difficult skills during O.F.D. Then, when we congratulated you, I noticed you wouldn't take your hands off the broom. And even though everyone thought you had screamed to make fun of Nott, it didn't match his scream. Yours was too honest to be a parody.

"Then, yesterday, when you made Prongs cancel on me, I realized he must be helping you with something more important than Head duties. And he wouldn't have cancelled on me unless it was time-sensitive."

Grimacing, I said, "I _am_ sorry about that, Remus."

He waved me off. "It's alright, it really is. It only bothered me because whatever he was doing with you, it wasn't just important, it _meant_ something, and I'd spent all night trying to figure out what."

"And you've figured it out?" I asked, curious to know more about his process.

"The only business the pair of you had outside of Head Duties was Hippogriff, and if you suddenly had a match to prepare for, I think you'd want as much help as possible as soon as possible with the most qualified person possible. But the extremes to which you'd gone—they only made sense if you _weren't_ an expert flyer."

"Remind me never to lie to you again," I deadpanned.

"I won't tell anyone!" he assured me quickly. "It's just how my brain works. It works nonstop on mysteries until it's solved them."

I smiled. "Mine, too, I think. Though, I don't think I would have solved a mystery like this so quickly."

His cheeks tinged pink. "Longbottom couldn't see a mystery if it was wearing a chalk outline and alarms were going off."

I laughed.

"He doesn't realize that he's missed the mark completely! I mean, can you imagine? Prongs and Snape? _'Waning enmity'_?" He threw his hands up in the air. "It's absurd!"

I laughed again. "You make excellent points. Still, why _were_ they being so civil to each other? Is it some ancient Hippogriff ritual of old, or something?"

"Oh, no; they simply didn't want to upset you."

I cocked my head to the side. "Why not?"

"Because they both fancy you, of course."

!?

I gaped. I stared at him for a full ten seconds before sputtering, "I—I—they—me? What?"

He blanched. "To be fair, I only say that based on personal observation, so best not take it to heart."

Oh, right, let's not _take to heart_ what this real-life Sherlock Holmes has deduced from his _personal observations_.

Because he's _so bad at solving mysteries_.

I continued to sputter nonsense for a few moments before I could finally string a sentence together. "So—their 'waning enmity.' Is that the only unbelievable thing in the article? You never really answered whether or not it's too impossible for the layperson to believe that I _am_ an expert flyer."

I took another swig of pumpkin juice, sweating feverishly under the weight of a problem I was incapable of processing at the moment.

Somewhat relieved, Remus plunged into a detailed analysis of the final moments of our Hippogriff match yesterday. "Your team definitely won, Lily. It's unfair to print otherwise."

I shrugged. "Makes no difference, honestly. Black wanted a rematch anyway. Fat chance she'll get one, now that they've banned Hippogriff matches from O.F.D."

A group of third-years, who had sat themselves besides us as Remus recounted our match in captivating detail, gasped.

"They can't do that!" one of them chimed in.

"Can't do what?" said Sirius Black, plopping down across from me and next to Remus. He stretched an arm around Remus's shoulders casually. Remus blinked down at his plate shyly.

Right. Speaking of mysteries.

One of the third years, a tawny-faced girl with striking green eyes and a sloping nose, brightened up at his arrival and sat up straight. "Can't ban Hippogriff from Operation Fire Dragon!" she answered.

"Sruthi, say it isn't so!" Sirius wailed, his eyes widening.

She giggled. "Ask your boyfriend, he heard so, too!"

Sirius turned to Remus, who blushed openly. "Boyfriend," he addressed him, "is this correct?"

Unable to hide a smile, Remus grinned. "Yes, Boyfriend. It is."

Sirius pouted.

Remus laughed and leaned forward to kiss him on the lips.

REMUS KISSED SIRIUS!?

Sirius smiled against his lips and laughed, too.

Well, so much for _that_ mystery. I made a mental note to let Mary know that she definitely had no chance with Remus. He was absurdly unavailable.

Remus turned to me, happiness filling his usually pale and tired face with color and life. "Is that what McGonagall needed to tell you so early? That Hippogriff's been banned?"

Nodding dumbly, I grabbed for a scone even though I was full, just to have something to do, while another of Remus's mysteries settled into my worldview. It would explain why Sirius was so protective of Remus. Then again, Sirius was protective of nearly everyone.

Sirius picked up the abandoned zine and read through it with seemingly unending amusement until the end.

"The results are _vague?!_ " he shouted. His grey eyes narrowed, panels of steel to match his steely resolve. "Where is he?"

Remus explained that Longbottom had gone to make extra copies of his sold out edition of the _Post_.

"SOLD OUT?" Sirius raged. "How many people have read this rubbish? _**WE**_ WON!"

Marlene ran toward us. "Mate, have you read this?" she asked, brandishing a copy of the zine in our faces.

To her giggling friends, Sruthi said, "Who hasn't?" but it was loud enough for all of us to hear.

Marlene shot her a glare. She only laughed harder.

Sirius gawked at Sruthi. "What's that supposed to mean? How many people have had the misfortune to believe that this group, consisting of two professional Gryffindor Quidditch Beaters, and the bleedin' Wronski Warrior, _lost_ to _Slytherins_?"

Pettigrew and James ran up next to Marlene.

"This is rubbish!" Pettigrew was saying, while James took a seat next to me.

James.

The bloke who fancies me. I was _not_ mentally prepared to see him.

"It's an outrage!" he said, but I couldn't pay his words any attention.

I suddenly felt like my whole body was on fire. I couldn't move or breathe or look at anything. I was too overwhelmed to tune into the conversation happening around me.

James raided a pile of breakfast pastry before getting up and leaving the table along with Sirius, Remus, Peter, and Marlene.

It took me another moment to gather my wits. By that time, I had lost sight of the lot of them, and had no idea where they'd been headed.

I turned to my left. "Er, Sruthi?" I said, trying to get the attention of my House mate.

"You know my name!" she said, surprised.

"Er—yes," I said. "Listen, where did everyone go? I sort of spaced out."

"We noticed you do that a lot!" She and her friends giggled, and I felt myself blush. "They're just in the doorway, there." She pointed to the doors, and I nodded.

"Thanks," I said, getting up and making my way over to them.

"We'd like to publicly refute the claims that Frank Longbottom has printed in _The Hogwarts Post_ ," Sirius was saying to a crowd of students gathered at the doorway.

"James Potter's team won the Hippogriff match!" Marlene shouted over him. When he threw her a dirty look, she shrugged and said, "Get to the point, Black!"

"POTTER WON!" he yelled.

Longbottom pushed his way through the crowd and stood in front of Sirius, a fresh pile of the _Post_ tucked under an arm. "The Wronski Warrior Strikes Again!" he announced. "Get the full scoop in _The Hogwarts Post_ , your source for the most exciting school news!"

Incoming students ransacked his stock of zines as they walked in, no doubt captivated by my heroic act.

"If by 'exciting' you mean 'inaccurate,' then yeah, help yourself!" said Sirius.

Confused, Longbottom Levitated his pile of zines, and got out his notepad and quill. Always in Press Mode. "Could you tell me which inaccuracies you found in the piece, please?"

He was too professional to take anything personally.

"Oi, we _won_ , mate," Marlene said. "And you've written that results were _vague_."

Longbottom put his quill down. "Yeah, Snape's already tried that one on me. I'm not retracting that part."

"You mean Snape's told you we won as well? And you still won't put it in?" Sirius complained.

Longbottom crossed his arms. "No, I mean, he told me to print that _his_ team had won."

"You can't be serious!" I said amongst a chorus of outraged shouts.

Sirius was out of his mind. "You've got to put it right, mate! We won, and now they're trying to take advantage of the fact that _you_ couldn't get your facts straight to claim that they've won instead! It's a load of rubbish!"

Longbottom put his hands up defensively. "I'll tell you what I told Snape; I only report what I can back up. I'm staying out of this. But please feel free to write a letter to the editor! I'm sure Rookwood will print it as an opinion piece."

Sirius sighed.

He spent the rest of the morning telling anyone who'd listen that he'd won the Hippogriff match against his cousin. It turns out, she'd been doing the same thing, and the whole school was equally divided on the whole thing, as though they had all been there to witness it for themselves.

Apparently, Bellatrix Black started a rumor that I'd cheated and used force to break Nott's arm midair. "Only a Muggleborn could be capable of such brute force!" she'd said (allegedly).

Except instead of rallying people to disqualify our contested win, it backfired and only made me even more popular, especially amongst those who let their imaginations run wild. However, two sixth year Ravenclaw girls demanded to know how it was possible to break someone's arm whilst flying belly-down in a Hippogriff race.

I fixed them with a look that clearly said I-am-a-goddess-you-are-not-worthy, and replied, "The answer, I think you'll find, is that I didn't."

Then Bellatrix tried again, this time saying that I'd deliberately clubbed Mulciber in the face to keep him from flying in the race. But after the first rumor proved impossible, no one really believed her, and I never found myself having to defend my actions regarding that particular incident.

The rest of the day passed in much the same way; random students approached me, not to ask the Head Girl for her renown wisdom of the ages, but to ask the Wronski Warrior for either her autograph (I mean, _really?_ ), or her opinion on the Hippogriff Controversy ("We won, obviously.").

It was a controversy now. But it just seemed like that sort of day.

By dinnertime, the question of "Who Won?" created a shouting match between a group of students so fantastically inappropriate, that James and I had to intervene before any of the professors got involved.

"It's so _obvious_ the Head Girl _cheated_!" said a Hufflepuff boy.

A Ravenclaw girl, the blonde one of the aforementioned sixth year girls who had approached me earlier, rolled her eyes. "Well, _clearly_ , you haven't thought this through. Why would the _Head Girl_ cheat? She's the Wronski Warrior—do you really think she'd need to cheat at a game of _Hippogriff_?"

The boy balled up his fists and stepped towards her. "She beat up Mulciber before he could get on a broomstick!"

"Lily, did you really?" James asked me, scandalized. He was just loud enough for everyone to hear.

I played along, smiling as though I'd been caught. "I mistook his head for a Bludger," I explained.

"Easy mistake," he rejoined lightly. "Although there is the matter of his head being attached to his body."

I shrugged. "I don't believe in the mind-body split."

"I don't think Mulciber did, either, but you nearly made the decision for him!" James accused.

I shrugged unapologetically. "Allegedly."

The students, save for the Hufflepuff boy, all laughed.

James smiled warmly at him and placed a hand on his shoulder. "Now, Hamish. I understand it's disappointing when your favorite in any match doesn't win, but that doesn't mean it's alright for you to go spreading ugly rumors about their opponents."

Hamish pursed his lips angrily, staring down at the floor, silent and fuming.

"Anything you'd like to say?" I asked.

Hamish lifted his chin and looked me square in the eye. "Yeah. I'll be watching you during the rematch, so you'd better watch it!"

My eyebrows went up in astonishment.

Why would he so readily believe that I was at fault and deliberately emaciating my opponents? I mean, I was the _Head Girl_ , like Blondie said—why would I need to cheat? What could I hope to gain?

The Ravenclaw girl looked equally shocked, her dark eyebrows disappearing beneath her dark blonde fringe. "You're having a rematch?" she asked.

"Er, no—" James started, probably going into the spiel about Hippogriff getting banned, etc., but I cut him off.

"Yes, yes we are. The terms are still up in the air—no pun intended"—I got a few laughs—"but there will most definitely be a rematch."

A wave of excitement passed through the crowd, and they all broke off to their respective tables chattering away and spreading the news of the rematch faster than I could say "Wronski Warrior."

James turned to me, expectantly. "So, how are we having this rematch? Hippogriff's been banned, or don't you remember?"

I smirked. "Aren't _you_ the one that's supposed to bend the rules?"

"I can't disobey a direct ruling," he answered.

"Well, McGonagall said the school governors banned Hippogriff from O.F.D., but that doesn't mean we can't play Hippogriff _at all_ , right?"

James returned my smirk as understanding hit him. "Right."

"Sooo," I said, elongating the vowel playfully, "when is the pitch free?"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> McGonagall is definitely secretly shipping James and Lily because she just KNOWS that between Gryffindor's Champion Captain and the Winged Wronski Warrior, they're bound to produce probably the best Quidditch players of all time. And she'll be damned if they don't play for House Gryffindor!
> 
> Anyway, I hope you're enjoying this so far. :)


	9. Do a Barrel Roll!

After news of our rematch spread, Bellatrix Black accosted me in the entrance hall after dinner.

"My cousin tells me that you had the Headmaster ban Hippogriff from Hogwarts because you're afraid you'll lose our rematch," she alleged smugly, leaning beside a suit of armor, and inspecting her nails disinterestedly.

Well, and here I'd thought that at the very least, Hogwarts knew how to spread information accurately, but it seemed only to be able to produce the most fabulous of rumors.

I laughed. "Did he?"

The smirk she'd been sporting slipped off her face. She appeared genuinely insulted that I'd laughed at her.

So touchy.

"Well, that's news to me," I continued, facing her. "If you must know, it was the school governors' doing, to ban the game from O.F.D. after you hit Nott with a Bludger and broke his arm."

Her eyes flashed with anger, but I saw no regret in them.

Crossing my arms over my chest, I added, "Isn't Nott's father a school governor? Perhaps you should ask him about that. I thought it was his way of forfeiting."

"He would _never_ ," she retorted, her voice low and daring me to contradict her.

I shrugged, as smug as she was when we began this encounter. "Then I believe we're on for a rematch. Friday night work for you?"

Now it was her turn to cackle. "I don't believe it! A goody-two-shoes Mudblood Gryffindor like _you_ is going to break the rules!"

I raised an eyebrow at her.

She feigned shock and put a hand sarcastically over her mouth. "Oh, no! Have I insulted you? Please, _Head Girl_! Don't take any House points from me! I couldn't endure the shame!" She couldn't make it through the last statement without bursting into a fresh bout of gleeful chortles.

"I'll see you on the pitch, Black," I countered. "Hope Nott can make it." I pushed past her and made my way up to Gryffindor tower, hoping to catch up to Jen and have a moment of sanity.

She was curled up in an armchair by the fire in the common room, her quill scratching feverishly across a roll of parchment that looked to be about three or four feet long.

I approached her cautiously. "Jen?"

Her head snapped up and her dark brown eyes were wide with excitement. "Lily!" she sang.

"You missed dinner," I remarked.

She sighed. "I know. I've been holed up in here ever since I heard. I'm writing an appeal to the school governors. I'm sure if we pass this around, we can get the majority of the student body to sign the petition, and after we send this in, they'll _have_ to hold a hearing on it, and if we continue to send them letters, they'll schedule it by Halloween, and we can have Hippogriff reinstated before Christmas!"

She looked so pleased with herself.

I raised my eyebrows at her. "No chance we could get it reinstated by Friday night instead?"

Jen uncurled her legs out from under her and stretched. "Of course not, silly. Why?"

I pursed my lips and settled onto the arm of her chair. "Because that's when we have our rematch."

" _What?_ " she exclaimed. "But—but, you _can't_. It's been _banned_!"

"Well, technically, it's only been banned from O.F.D.. McGonagall didn't say anything about extracurricular cases."

"Did you ask if that would be okay?"

Oh, sweet Merlin. If I told her the truth and said _no_ , I hadn't asked McGonagall, then she would literally march me down to her Transfiguration office all the way on the third floor (where she was tutoring some third years) and make me. But if I said _yes_ , then she'd just drop it.

And honestly, if the school governors had banned it _specifically_ from Operation Fire Dragon, then it only made sense that the ban didn't apply to other circumstances.

I took in my chummy as she sat there, having missed dinner to write four feet's worth of an appeal to get this stupid game reinstated. I couldn't lie to her.

"No," I admitted, and she frowned, "but, isn't it better, for a one-time thing, to ask for forgiveness instead of permission?"

She chewed on the inside of her lip in thought. "Perhaps," she said after a long moment. "Though, it's not exactly the best example for you to set as Head Girl."

Apparently Sruthi had been listening in, because she piped up from a nearby couch, "I think a Head Girl should stand up for what's right, and put prejudiced people in their place, don't you?"

We both turned to look at her. She was cocooned in a blanket in the corner of the couch, a single sock-clod foot hanging off the side, and a beginner's Arithmancy book in hand.

Jen sighed, rolling up her length of parchment. "Yes, I do," she answered. "But I'm still going to make sure the school governors know that they're being hypocritical. If safety is their concern, why are they banning Hippogriff and not Quidditch? Or, for that matter, why not ban any practical application of all the magic that we learn here? Clearly, there's some corruption going on, and I intend on going through the _proper_ channels to see it's checked."

"But you won't say anything about the rematch on—when was it, Lily? Friday night?" Sruthi asked me. She'd pulled her hair up so that a fountain of rich brown curls spilled from the back of her head.

"Er, yes." I smiled. "In a week."

Jen pursed her lips. "I won't say anything, but I don't like it," she said.

I grinned and embraced her. "Thank you, chummy!"

She wouldn't return the hug out of spite.

"Can people come watch?" Sruthi asked.

I let go of an unresponsive Jen and smiled at Sruthi. "I don't see why not. It'll be after dinner, though, so just make sure you're quiet about it. I wouldn't want a professor getting wind of it and reporting it to the school governors before we get a chance to compete."

She brought a hand to the side of her head in a salute, and shouted, "Aye, aye, Captain!"

Jen looked up at me, her face impassive. "I hope whatever you're trying to prove is worth it, Lily."

I assured her it was, then begged her to please play a few rounds of Exploding Snap with me because I'd had such a stressful day and wanted to spend quality time with my best mate.

She softened a little at that, and we spent the evening holding our breath with a deck of ticking time bombs between us. It was exactly what I needed.

Before bed, James approached me and asked if I wanted another flying session. "You need to train," he insisted. "A lot of people are counting on you, Lily."

"So no pressure, right?" I said, smiling tiredly.

He squeezed my shoulder in reassurance. "It'll be fine."

I nodded. "Just let me sleep in," I conceded. "Then we can train for as long as you see fit."

His eyes smiled at me and I had to build a brick wall around my feelings and bury them deep lest they inflate so large that I floated off the carpeted floor.

Lily Evans, Girl Balloon.

I went to sleep contemplating whether or not this was a healthy reaction to a boy's smiling eyes, though considering I had very little previous experience with smiling eyes at all, ignoring any and all side effects only seemed natural.

I needed to live my life after all.

* * *

I awoke at half past ten, stretching my limbs beneath my red and gold tartan quilt, feeling warm and well rested.

I caught Remus on the way out of the portrait hole and we made our way down to the Great Hall together for a late breakfast.

"What happens if you lose next week?" he asked me, as we waited for the staircases on the fourth floor to return to their place.

A thoughtful frown fixed itself on my face as I answered, "Originally, if I lost, Bellatrix and her blood purist cronies would be allowed to call me 'Mudblood' to my face without consequence."

A frown that could have matched mine settled between his brows and tugged down at the corners of his lips. "And what happens if you win?"

"Er, they won't be able to?"

"Lily, that's a terrible wager. They already aren't allowed to call you that without you taking away House points."

I sighed. "I know. I need to renegotiate terms, but I'm not exactly sure what I'd want out of it. I think there might have been something about an apology as well—I'd have to apologize to Nott about what happened on Tuesday."

He stared at me. "You didn't do anything wrong."

I shrugged. "That's not how they see it."

The staircase landed before us with a great thud and we began our descent to the third floor.

"No surprise there. I wouldn't exactly trust them with any perspective on reality," Remus said, smiling sardonically.

"Hear, hear," I answered, returning his smile.

When we got to the Great Hall, Sirius, James, and Marlene were poring over a copy of _The Daily Prophet_.

Remus immediately marched towards them. "What's happened?" he asked, his tone as somber as anything.

James peered up at him, all the laughter and smiling gone from his eyes. "There's been another attack. A family of Muggles was found murdered in Little Hangleton. The _Prophet_ won't say it outright, but we know who's behind it."

"Why won't they say who's behind it?" questioned Marlene, twirling a lock of curls before they bounced back into her cloud of hair.

Sirius rolled his eyes. "I reckon the Ministry doesn't want to acknowledge there's a war brewing around them while they're powerless to stop it. Fucking cowards."

I sat down next to Marlene and piled some Scotch pancakes onto a plate. "It's easier to pretend it's an isolated incident rather than an escalation of attacks waged by an organized group of wizards."

"Well how do we know it _isn't_ isolated?" Marlene asked.

James pointed at the photograph. Barely visible against the night sky was a cloud in the shape of a skull with a serpent slithering out of its mouth. "The Dark Mark," he replied simply. "It's _his_ mark."

Marlene scoffed, tossing her hair behind her shoulder. " _The Prophet_ 's always been a load of shit," she assessed. "Soon they're going to report that a goblin's made off with Gringott's gold and in the same breath say that it's still the safest place on earth."

Sirius snorted. "That's actually on page twelve," he said.

Marlene gaped. "You're joking!"

Sirius turned the page to the appropriate article and Marlene gawked at the words she had so flippantly dreamed up in jest.

James got up from between the two Gryffindor Beaters and plopped down next to me. "I need to owl my parents about something, so I can meet you on the pitch after breakfast?" There was something urgent in his countenance, something pressing, burning through his skin and into the air around him. I imagined millions of atom-sized alarm bells going off around his person.

"Yes, of course," I agreed.

He smiled and got up, eyeing my stack of drop scones with great mirth. "Don't eat too much. You don't want to fly on a full stomach."

I pouted at him. "But they're so _good_ ," I protested.

He laughed weakly. "It's all part of your training. Later!"

I waved him off as he sauntered out of the Hall. I turned back to my plate and promised myself I'd only eat half the scones I'd set out for myself. Five minutes later, I promised myself I'd only eat two-thirds of them. Five minutes after that, I was staring at an empty plate feeling extremely satisfied.

Clearly, James had no idea what he was talking about—I was perfectly _fine_. Or at least, I thought I was, until I stood up.

I felt fifty pounds heavier, and like my gut was lined with stones. I decided to walk it off and go for a stroll on the grounds before meeting James on the pitch. It would take him at least half an hour to go to the Owlery and then to the Quidditch pitch.

It was a little colder than I expected when I walked outside, so I cast a Warming Charm on myself and strode towards the lake. My thoughts started at a Charms essay that was due in two weeks and ended somewhere near Remus.

Little Mr. Know-It-All himself.

Remus was extremely gifted in the art of observation. He was able to piece together that I was a beginner flyer masquerading as a lifelong athlete with the ability to pull off a successful Wronski Defensive Feint.

He also seemed to think that the reason James and Severus had been so civil with each other during Hippogriff was because they both fancied me.

_Me_.

For one thing, James had always tried to embarrass me by asking me out and professing his love in the most hideous of ways (he once trained Flitwick's toad choir to sing me a Muggle love song—"My Girl," of all things—while he stood grinning like a madman on bended knee), but I don't think I ever took him seriously. I processed such antics as very tasteless pranks.

I don't think I'd ever considered that he was capable of actually having real feelings for me. The thought had honestly never crossed my mind before!

Even when Severus had warned me that James Potter fancied me, I'd rolled my eyes and decisively diffused any further discussion about it. Because James Potter didn't _fancy_ me—not really. He only thought he did, or he was playing the part to annoy me. His shameless flirting was a horror of a running joke between us and anyone else who'd care to listen in; I'd rejected him often enough, and it was easy to fluster me with his ridiculous suggestions.

But I'd made it very clear that under no circumstances was I ever going to go out with him, so really, Severus had nothing to worry about.

Secondly— _Severus?!_

How could he fancy me when he all but insulted me in the worst way imaginable and chose blood purity ideology and blood purist bullies over our friendship?

Exactly how could he fancy me _and_ believe I was inferior and undeserving of access to the Wizarding World? It just didn't make any sense.

I stared out at the rippling lake waters, thinking about how just a year and a half ago, Severus and I were still friends. The thought cast a dark shadow over the midmorning sunlight. It weighed on me more than my stack of Scotch pancakes.

He'd been my chum, my first proper wizard friend—I thought we would be friends forever. He made magic seem beautiful, like a gift. When Petunia cowered and snapped back with hatred and derision, he held my hand and made sure I knew I wasn't a freak; I was special.

I was a witch.

I'd noticed him in the park in Cokeworth before, but he never spoke to anyone. Mostly, he kept to himself, either reading beneath a tree, or swinging on the lone swing in the corner of the green. I'd always thought he was just shy, though remembering how quickly he opened up to me once he'd discovered my magical abilities, I realized he would have never approached me if he'd thought I were a mere Muggle.

I scoffed, kicking at the ground beneath my boots. "He was always a snob," I muttered to myself, smiling bitterly.

Of course, speak of the basilisk and he shall appear.

At the foot of the forest, strolling pensively on the shores of the Great Lake was Severus Snape.

I watched him as he hiked through the lush grasses and knolls at the edge of the lake, his robes flapping behind him in the unforgiving wind. His dark hair hung loosely about his shoulders in two great curtains around his sallow face. I wondered briefly what he was doing out here, when he looked up and caught my gaze across the water.

He froze for a moment, surprised, perhaps, that I was there, or shocked that I was staring at him at all. He returned my gaze for a few moments, and then he made a beeline for The Tree.

The Tree was an old sycamore tree whose leaves would turn a shocking shade of dark red in autumn that very nearly matched my own hair color. Severus often called it my "distant relative," to which I would respond, "Only by a kingdom," and we would laugh at my Muggle biology joke together.

We would chat there after lunch on the weekends, or meet up during free periods—anytime we could get away from the general inter-House animosity that got in the way of our friendship.

Over time, these meetings became less and less frequent, but The Tree was sacred ground. He wouldn't have walked over to it unless he needed to talk.

I sighed. This was so not what I wanted to do today. I was meant to sleep in and then train with James while I ignored feeling like a balloon. That was all I had mentally prepared to do. I didn't have the energy to spare on anything else.

Despite myself, and every nerve ending in my body telling me to turn right around and avoid this situation entirely, I couldn't ignore The Tree.

He must have known that.

And I was playing right into his selfish hands.

I trudged over to him, keeping my head held high, and my face as impassive as stone. Whatever he wanted to talk about, I knew that we were no longer friends and it wouldn't do either of us any favors for me to be gracious to him. He'd used up all of my grace.

Severus had sat down in his usual spot, and a pang of guilt and nostalgia and pain hit me—we could have still been friends, perhaps, if I'd been a little more forgiving.

But then he set his black eyes on me and all the changes in his face since we'd stopped speaking added up to create a new face, one I'd never looked into before, one I no longer knew.

"Lily," he whispered, and even his voice was different. Where I'd usually found so much warmth and welcoming there was only reserve and distance.

"Severus," I replied. I sat down in my usual spot next to him, against the trunk of the tree, staring out onto the lake. From here, I could see the castle, the Owlery, and the entrance to the Quidditch pitch.

I remembered our pact to meet here whenever Gryffindor played Slytherin. We would laugh at the sport, mock the blind support of the House teams' followers, roll our eyes at the grandiose attitude the athletes took on when they won a match. Now we were playing on opposite teams in a sport ourselves. I grinned wryly at the irony of it all.

"Black is going to try and have you expelled next week," he said.

I whipped my head to look at him. "What?" I responded smartly.

He sighed. I could tell he felt conflicted about sharing this information with me. "She's planning on using the match against you, since it isn't authorized. She's going to have someone blow the whistle on the whole thing, and pin it on you."

I gaped. "She would rather get me kicked out than play fair," I concluded. "Why am I not surprised?"

Severus cleared his throat. "You need to cancel the match, Lily."

My eyes snapped to his. "Is that what this is about?" I asked.

His eyes dropped to the ground. "It's not worth getting expelled over."

"I appreciate your concern, but I think I can figure out what's worth fighting for and what isn't for myself, thanks."

I hadn't meant it as a passive aggressive attack, but that's how it came out, and Severus didn't fail to catch my double meaning.

He nodded in reply and got up. "I'll see you later, then."

"Tell Black her backhanded tricks have no place on the pitch. If she wants to defeat me, it had better be in a game of Hippogriff, as we agreed."

Severus remained silent, flipping the curtain of hair out of his eyes and dusting off his robes. He was off before I could pass along any other messages to his deranged Housemate.

From my place under the The Tree, I watched as an owl left the Owlery. I took that as my cue to make my way to the Quidditch Pitch, where I'd likely meet James on his way back from owling his parents whatever critical message he had for them.

As I sauntered across the grounds, I wondered if I should doubt Severus's story. Why would he warn me of Bellatrix's plans? Why would he willingly betray his own team to give me helpful information?

Was it a trap, masterminded by Bellatrix Black herself, predicated on the shaky grounds of my previous friendship with Sev?

I sucked in a breath and shook my head.

It made more sense that he was playing double agent with me, but on the off-chance that he wasn't, and his information was correct, I should probably prepare for it. Bellatrix was trying to get me expelled.

My fingers were restless and fidgeted with the drawstring at the waist of my robes.

Still, I couldn't wrap my head around his motives. Why would he confess such a valuable plot? Either he was still vying for my friendship, or Remus was right.

Severus could never lie to me—not to my face, not when we were alone, not when we were just the two of us.

He'd never be able to.

He couldn't lie to me because he fancied me.

He didn't respect my heritage, or me, but he still managed to fancy me.

The revelation only put me in a darker mood. Because I, too, had been unable to lie to someone recently.

And I was about to meet him for flying practice.

* * *

 "If this doesn't kill me, I'm going to murder you when I get down!" I yelled down at James. I was _upside-down_ , hanging onto my broom for dear life.

"You've only managed half a barrel roll!" he yelled back, ignoring my threats. "You have to keep going!"

I squeezed my eyes shut. I was definitely on track to end my life early in some freak flying accident. "This is _mad_! You wizards are absolutely mad! Always trying to get yourselves killed!"

I heard him sigh. "You're barely two feet off the ground, Lily. Just turn."

Breathing in as much air as I could, I pursed my lips in preparation, and forced myself to roll upright on my broom.

Apart from a bit of a swing, however, I didn't quite manage it.

"Roll back up like you mean it, Lily!" James coached.

I tried again.

And failed again.

"I'm stuck!" I exclaimed. "James, please just get me down."

"Are you giving up on me, Evans?" he asked, his Captain Voice very nearly terrifying me into staying hooked upside-down around my broom forever. But only very nearly.

I was beginning to go cross-eyed. I nodded frantically, attempting to shake some focus back into my gaze. "Yes!"

He groaned. "You're going to have to get the hang of this eventually, you know," he said, placing his hands around my waist and hoisting me upright on my broom.

All the blood rushed from my head due to my sudden change of position. "Pretty sure I've _only_ got the hang of that, Captain," I answered, putting a hand to my dizzy head.

James grimaced at my terrible pun, shaking his head, though I could make out a small smile tugging at the corners of his lips. "Alright, take five, and then you're going to complete a full barrel roll."

I jumped off my broom and threw myself stomach down onto the grass in exhaustion. "I don't even understand the point of a barrel roll," I mumbled, burying my face in my robe's sleeve.

James sat down on the grass next to me, stretching his legs out and leaning back on his hands. "It's an evasion tactic. Bloody useful against an incoming Bludger."

"Seems rather more dangerous than an incoming Bludger, if you ask me," I muttered.

James laughed lightly. "I promise it's worth learning."

I propped my head up on my elbow and took a good look at him. His hair was more tousled than ever with the amount of times he'd run his hands through it. It shifted slightly in the wind, the jet-black curls piled on the top of his head as though perfectly styled by nature itself. He'd closed his eyes against the midday sun, his long eyelashes brushing the tops of his high cheekbones.

His lips tugged into a smile, showing shiny, straight teeth. The smile of an aristocrat, if there ever was one. "Enjoying the view?" he asked, the conceit in his voice mixed with teasing, flirting.

I sighed dramatically. "And here I thought we were finally getting on, Potter," I replied, lacing my tone with the same amount of teasing and flirting as his.

He laughed freely, his whole body rolling with the joy of it, and his eyes opened to reveal glittering hazel orbs beneath fashionable spectacles. He was all sunlight and merriment, mischief and mayhem, wit and nerve.

At that moment, laying in the grass with him, our broomsticks abandoned at our sides, and the impending doom of a highly unorthodox duel with the Slytherin blood purists looming over us, a thought crossed my mind—a thought that would begin to shape the decisions I would soon have to make; a thought that would inform my worldview from here on out:

As long as James Potter was next to me, everything would be okay.

Exhausted from laughing, James collapsed on the ground, his arms behind his head, and a lazy smile on his face. "So have you given any thought to your new terms?"

"Hmm?" I asked, not catching his meaning.

He turned on his side, mirroring me, and propping his head up by an elbow. "The terms of the rematch. You can change your side of the agreement before it starts."

I chewed on my lip. "I'm not sure if I should change anything. I ran into Sev—Snape this morning, and he told me that Black was planning on reporting the whole event to try and get me expelled."

His eyebrows went up in surprise. "Wouldn't she get in trouble as well?"

I shrugged. "Yes, but she isn't _Head Girl_. I imagine the consequences of an unauthorized game of Hippogriff and a wager would be enough to set the school governors on me. Especially if Nott's father is one of them."

He let out a low whistle. "Then why even bother?" he asked.

I looked him squarely in the eye. "I may be a Muggleborn, but I was raised to always finish what I started."

He grinned a crooked grin. "Even if you're breaking the rules?" he asked, though it might have been rhetorical.

I matched his grin. " _Especially_ if I'm breaking the rules. Otherwise, _why even bother_?" I said, echoing his earlier words back at him.

"Touché," he replied. "Still, we should be careful. If you're expelled, they win. There's no coming back from that, Lily. And if you're expelled from Hogwarts, you'll have a double stigma—the Muggleborn who was expelled."

"I'd bet those blood purists would _love_ that."

James made a sardonic humming noise in the back of his throat in agreement. We lay there in silence for a few moments, the breeze nipping at our hair lightly.

"James?" I asked after a long while.

"Yeah?" His eyes swiveled to mine.

I didn't break eye contact. "Why are you helping me?"

He looked taken aback, as though not quite sure how to answer. He shrugged. "Because you asked," he answered finally.

"But you dropped everything to help me."

He stared off into the distance.

I wasn't sure what I wanted him to say, but I kept pressing the matter, thinking of Remus, thinking of Severus, searching for some kind of truth. "You've done so much for me, James, and I haven't always been so kind or helpful to you."

He cocked an eyebrow. "You're wondering why this is important to me."

"Yes."

"You want to know what I think is in it for me."

"Of course."

"You want to know if I'm scheming."

"Are you?"

Finally, he faced me. "No."

"Then?"

He sighed. "Alright, full disclosure." He sucked in his cheeks briefly, as if steeling himself for a confession. I held my breath. "Lily, you must know that I've been at odds with Snape and Black for our entire career at Hogwarts, and you _must_ know that it's only been an endless cycle of fights, duels, and near-death incidents."

James waited for me to answer, so I nodded.

"And do you know why?" he asked.

Er. "Because they're Slytherins?" I answered uncertainly.

He leveled me with an incredulous stare. " _No._ It's because they think I'm a blood-traitor just because I come from a long line of Purebloods and I _still_ don't believe Muggles and Muggleborns are inferior to me and deserve to be wiped out in a bloody genocide."

_And they do,_ was the unspoken implication. Black believed that, and so, it seemed, did Severus. A part of him didn't think people like me should exist.

James continued, "And when I'm not defending myself and those beliefs, I'm spending most of my free time defending Sirius, who through no fault of his own, is related to half of Slytherin House, and has received the worst of the bullying just for being a decent human being. It got worse after his family officially disowned him. They've never made it easy for us, and I don't intend to make it easy for them, either."

He made everything sound so drastic, heavy, definite. Like the war that was brewing outside the castle walls had been fought inside them since James's first year.

I cocked my head to the side. "So you're helping me learn to fly?"

"Yes."

"Because once again, you find yourself in the middle of a moral dispute."

"Yes."

I raised my eyebrows. "So I'm a charity case?"

He rolled his eyes. "You asked me for help, and I'm helping. It's not charity, it's just the right thing to do."

"The right thing to do," I echoed skeptically.

James sat up and out of view. "Does that surprise you?"

"Honestly?" I answered, realizing that nothing surprised me when it came to James Potter anymore. "No."

It _used to_ surprise me when I learned that James Potter wasn't this rash, arrogant, troublemaking person I'd built up in my mind. Or, at least, that wasn't who he was _anymore_. I had come to terms with the fact that I didn't really know James, and wondered how it was I'd gotten the worst impression of him.

"Right. Now, what are you going to do if Black tries to get you expelled?" he asked, changing the subject.

I sat up as well, just so I could see him. "I don't think it'll work, honestly."

He grinned, shaking his head. "That's optimistic."

"It's too large of a gamble on herself," I reasoned. "The only way to blow the whistle on me is if she risks herself in the process. She's too self-preserving for that."

"Not if she gets immunity."

I snorted. "Oh, are we on trial now?"

"If the school governors get involved, you might not even get a trial," James rejoined.

I threw my hands up. "I don't even know if Sev was telling the truth! How do we know it's not some ploy to get me—us—to forfeit the match?"

"Snape wouldn't lie to you, Lily," he opposed.

"Why are we taking that for granted? That he wouldn't lie to _me_? He might be bluffing."

It was meant to make him consider my point, help me figure out this whole Severus-fancies-me thing, but apparently James had an answer. He shook his head. "Because even though he tries to hide it by insulting you in class and standing with the other Slytherins when they gang up on you, he knows he fucked up, and he cares enough about you when it matters, and that's why he wouldn't lie to you. Not about something like this."

What in the bloody hell? Was he psychoanalyzing his nemesis?

"James, what are you on about? Are you actually defending him? _Severus?_ The person who's basically been your arch nemesis since literally the first day we met?"

James scoffed. "I've done worse."

"What, did you save him from a vampire?"

James laughed so hard that he couldn't breathe, tears streaming down his face. He held up a hand to signal that he was okay and not dying, as I am prone to jumping to conclusions, and choked out, "Werewolf, actually."

I laughed. "A werewolf? Sure it wasn't a mountain troll?"

"It might have been, yeah," he replied, vague as ever.

I cocked my head at him, clearly curious.

He flashed a brilliant smile at me in response. "I'd tell you, but"—he winked—"Marauder's honor. You understand."

"Oh, right," I responded sarcastically.

"Point is, despite our differences, he's just a bloke, in the end."

"I can't believe I'm having this conversation right now," I blurted out.

Smiling, he pushed himself off the ground to stand over me. He offered me a hand and pulled me up. "I think it's been more than five minutes. Ready to try again?" he asked, handing me my broomstick.

"These barrel rolls are going to kill me," I grumbled, pushing my hair behind my ears.

"Not if the Bludgers beat them to it!" he countered.

We spent the better half of the afternoon training. He got me to fly up in the air and cast the Immobulus Charm on several falling objects, just in case I got it in my head to save someone again. And all I could think was how James Potter was This Whole Other Person Who Wasn't Who I Thought.

Or at least, he was More Than That. Complicated. An Actual Person.

Just a bloke, in the end.

And maybe, he fancied me.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Any Star Fox fans?


	10. Smarmy Bastards

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So sorry for the long wait between updates; I've been very busy entertaining visitors, and I've rewritten this chapter about five times now, trying to get it just right. I think this is the version I can live with the most, so it's going up! Please let me know what you think of it. :) And, as always, I very much hope you're enjoying the story, because I'm certainly enjoying writing it!

At four o'clock, James called our practice to an end. Apparently, he had an actual Quidditch practice then, and I touched down just as Remus kissed Sirius goodbye at the edge of the pitch.

Oh, right. I'd forgotten about that.

Sirius smirked cheekily at me as we passed each other on the pitch. "Evans! I trust you can walk my boyfriend back to the castle for me, eh?"

I rolled my eyes. "Sure, why ever not?"

"Brilliant!" he exclaimed, a single dimple in his left cheek dotting his goateed smile. "And I'll keep yours company on the pitch!"

I may have thrown a few jinxes after him out of spite, to which he only laughed harder—and madder. He ran off before I could do any serious damage, laughing all the way, and sounding eerily like his deranged cousin.

"Your mate—er, boyfriend," I began, once I'd caught up to Remus, "is completely mental. Thought you should know."

Remus smiled shyly. "Thanks for the tip."

"Anytime." We fell into an easy pace as we crossed the grounds.

"How was your training?" he asked politely.

I shrugged. "Alright, I s'pose. I definitely need a stretch and a bite to eat, but I can't complain."

"And how was Prongs? Not too harsh, I hope. He can get rather bossy and irate when he's captaining or training or Head Boy-ing."

I cocked my head at him. "Surely, you can't mean  _James?_ " I asked sarcastically.

"That's the one," he responded, smirking. I bet he learned that from Sirius. "Did you get on?"

I nodded. "He's alright, that Potter bloke," I admitted, climbing up a steep hill. "Did you know he was Captain Safety First? Mr. 'Mischief Managed' nearly bit my head off for trying to save Nott during our match because I wasn't following safety procedures. Can you believe it?"

Rather than laugh, as I had expected, Remus appeared rather puzzled at this. "The last thing he'd ever want is for someone to get hurt, Lily. Especially if they're his responsibility."

"Ha!" I laughed sardonically. "Where was that James Potter when he was hexing Sev every day of fourth year?"

He grimaced. "He never did any real harm to him, though."

We were almost to the main gates of the castle. "Never did any real harm to him?" I echoed in disbelief, nearly laughing at the outrageous excuse he'd given. "What James put poor Severus through is indefensible, Remus. No one deserves to be bullied!"

"Well, he wasn't—"

" _No one!_ " I repeated.

He held his hands up in surrender. "You're right, of course," he conceded. "But it was never one-sided."

I threw him a look that could not have been very friendly. "What are you talking about?" I asked.

"Do you remember, in fifth year? After our Defense Against the Dark Arts O.W.L.s, by the lake?"

How could I forget?

I nodded, attempting to push down all the swelling, anxious emotions that that particular memory evoked.

"Do you remember that spell James and Sirius used?"

I made no indication what spell he meant, even though I could remember it as clearly as the cloudless sky above us.

"Levicorpus. It levitates you in the air by your feet," Remus continued, explaining generously. "Well, it was Snape's own spell. He'd been using it on James and Sirius for ages, emptying their pockets, leaving them stranded down deserted corridors and the like. That afternoon by the lake, they got their revenge."

My eyebrows went to high heaven at that, no doubt disappearing beneath my fringe. "Oh," I said quietly.

"I'm not condoning their behavior, of course, but after five years of this endless feud between the two parties, I'd given up trying to fight them on it. Especially because I knew James would never take it any further than harmless pranks."

I threw him a dubious look.

He grinned widely, combing his fingers through his sandy brown hair. "Alright,  _mostly_  harmless. So you see," Remus concluded, "it was never one-sided. And considering that I was there when James first tried out Snape's spell, I can tell you that it doesn't surprise me in the least that his concern is always for the safety of others, even his enemies."

I remembered what James had said about having saved Severus from a werewolf. Remus seemed to know what he was talking about. My old ideas of James Potter were proved wrong or insufficient so often, I gave up trying to keep up.

"Captain Safety First," I muttered, letting this new idea of James Potter settle into my mind as we climbed the steps to the castle's front doors.

Remus laughed. "You should call him that. He'd hate it."

Grinning, I hooked my arm through his and walked us up through the front doors and up the grand staircase. "I think, Remus, that this is the beginning of a beautiful friendship."

* * *

Bellatrix Black was actively trying to get me expelled, Severus was a conflicted bigot, McGonagall had actually complimented me on my flying, Remus had kissed Sirius several times in front of me, and the only thought that my mind continued to circle back to was that James Potter possibly  _actually_  fancied me.

Fancied me in a real way, as well. The sort where you put aside a deep and long-held rivalry for the sake of helping the girl you fancy win at a broom race, the very same one for which you helped her prepare because before that, she was total pants on a broom, and without you, she would have been the largest and most tragic drop scone in all of Scotland.

It wasn't until dinner, after a much-needed soak in the prefects' bath, when I'd sat next to Jen and found myself entirely distracted by the back of James's disheveled head as he and Peter engaged in some arm wrestling that that fact finally hit me.

Apart from Jen and Remus, he was the only other person who knew the truth about me. He was the only person I'd told willingly, the only person who had offered to help.

He'd seen me at my most vulnerable—perched atop a broom, you remember, and as frightened as a goose on Christmas Day—and he hadn't judged me.

And of course, there was that feeling. That stupid one that kept appearing whenever he got too close or said something nice or his eyes smiled or laughed or he displayed qualities befitting a non-toerag.

Jen was chattering away about something or other having to do with the school bylaws and intramural sports, but all I could focus on was how the hair on the back of James's head seemed to stick up stubbornly, despite visible attempts to get it to lay flat.

It used to annoy me whenever I'd have to sit behind him—especially in Transfiguration. I'd spend most of the lesson just glaring at the sticky-uppy bits, willing them to wither beneath my unforgiving stare. Alas, no amount of hatred was enough to magic his hair down.

Although, I confess that once in third year, I managed to transfigure the sticky-uppy patch of hair into a cactus, which had gone mostly unnoticed by him and the rest of the class until well into Herbology that afternoon when he was unceremoniously attacked by a venomous tentacula.

I began grinning, and failed to hold in a chortle of laughter as I remembered how Professor Sprout had yelled at him for having come into her greenhouse with a "decidedly unpleasant devil's head!" while he was face-first in the pits of the tentacula's grasp.

Jen frowned. "What's so funny about broom tax laws?" she asked.

I blinked, realizing I had completely spaced out. "Er," I said.

She sighed. "You weren't paying attention at all, were you?"

"I'm sorry, Jen!" I placed my hand soothingly over hers. "I just got a bit—"

I was interrupted by a loud thud that managed to make all the goblets and plates bounce slightly on the table.

"IN YOUR FACE, POTTER!" shouted Peter Pettigrew.

"—distracted," I finished lamely.

Jen waved me off, turning around to witness one, Peter, standing over James Potter in red-faced victory. He pushed his long blonde hair over his shoulders, thin lips revealing a crooked smile.

James's hand carded through his hair, and for a split second, the back of his hair appeared normal as his long fingers passed over it, but it bounced right back into its sticky-uppy position. Finally, he stuck out his hand, and said, "Right, well done, mate."

Peter shook his hand. "Thanks, I'm rather chuffed myself."

Sirius called over at him, "You still aren't shite, Wormtail!"

Peter grinned, leaned over the table and said, "Give us a go, then."

Jen turned back around, her frown deepening as she contemplated the scene that had just unfolded.

I shrugged at her, bemused by the Marauders' antics, and changed the subject. "So what were you saying about broom tax laws?"

Jen sat up straighter and even though I could tell she was very excited to explain broom tax law to me, I couldn't get myself to pay attention. I found myself staring curiously at the Marauders' antics in the background with newfound respect and admiration.

And that stupid blooming feeling was filling me up with warmth and a slight twinge of pain. When Peter defeated Sirius Black and Remus laughed openly at his boyfriend without hesitation, I realized that the feeling I'd been experiencing at the sight of James Potter was  _longing_.

I felt  _longing_  for James?

I frowned, and Jen nodded. Apparently, I was reacting appropriately, and I tried to pay attention to her, but she kept saying words like "regulation" and "clause" and "municipal code," and I couldn't keep anything straight.

But then she said something that finally seemed to bring me out of my daze.

"Sorry, Jen. Could you repeat that?"

She sighed with obvious exasperation that she'd lost my attention once again. "I  _said_ ," and here she shot me a most irritated glance, "that the broom tax law only applies to the equipment used in Quidditch matches due to some weird loophole about inter-House leagues and club leagues. It was Avery Hicks, actually—oh, you'll love this. It's to do with that Muggle war that was on in the 40's!"

I listened rapt with attention.

She leaned in toward me, her eyes bright and sparkling. "Apparently, he and some other students founded some sort of Muggle support brigade and were able to evade a bunch of applied academics restrictions by doing so through Hogwarts's bylaws, with the argument that the brigade wasn't House specific, and so while it technically organized students into different teams for air support in the war, they weren't subject to school-appointed authorities because the teams were House-mixed."

"Why is there a loophole for House-mixed teams?" I asked.

"Because the rule about regulating recreational activities specifies that the school governors have authority over inter-House activities, and in so doing, anything that doesn't fall within that definition is outside of their jurisdiction. Like Quiz Club, for example! It's student-organized, student-run, and they have their own House-mixed club league. They just have a Ministry referee to oversee their matches."

Suddenly, I realized I might have a solution to my potential expulsion. "Jen, if we get someone from another House to play on our Hippogriff team, doesn't that mean that the ban doesn't apply to us anymore?"

Jen's eyes widened. "Oh my Merlin! Lily,  _yes!_  That could solve all our problems! Except—except, well, you'd have to convince Black to do so as well, and—"

"We don't need to convince her of anything. Her team's already House-mixed."

Jen frowned as she quickly thought through what I'd just told her. Then, her eyes narrowed and she growled darkly, " _Dorcas_."

* * *

Our plan would only work if we behaved like Slytherins and kept it under wraps, which was difficult for the naturally loose-tongued, confrontational individuals of my  _very_  Gryffindor Hippogriff team.

The only thing that we deliberately let loose was the day and time of our rematch with Bellatrix Black's team. This was absolutely essential to Part 2 of our plan: massive crowds and loads of witnesses to sign a petition of support. Really, we just had to tell Sruthi about the rematch and let the Hogwarts gossip machine take care of the rest.

However, if word got out and Bellatrix got wind of what we were planning, she might remove Dorcas from her team prematurely and we'd lose the edge we'd need to secure our status as a mixed-House Hippogriff Club League. Luckily, the self-proclaimed Marauders had had more practice with secret-keeping and general mischief-making, so I could count on them to pull this off. During the week, we managed to scout the other Houses for flying talent, and began a list of students we thought would want to form teams for a Hippogriff league.

On Tuesday night, I was paired with Hannibal McCloud, a Ravenclaw sixth-year prefect, for my patrol rounds.

"So, Evans," he said, as we rounded the second lower level of the dungeons. "There's a rumor going around that you and Potter are starting a Hippogriff league."

I flashed him a smile. "There have been a lot of rumors going around lately."

McCloud seemed to see right through my ploy of deception. He stopped dead in his tracks and turned to face me. With all seriousness, he declared, "I want to be on your team."

I raised an eyebrow in surprise. "Why?"

He smirked. "You're not the only one looking to settle a score."

I laughed. I still wasn't sure I could trust him, even though we'd both been prefects for a year together.

"What do you say, Evans?"

"I think you're being presumptuous."

"I'm not an idiot," McCloud said, almost desperately. "I know you and Potter and your other friends have been looking for other players. And that Till—with parents in the Wizengamot, she'll have known about Article Six, Section Three in the school's bylaws."

Now, it was my turn to smirk. "We're well aware, McCloud. But what I meant was you were being presumptuous to believe I'd let you anywhere near my team without a proper try-out."

McCloud's face visibly relaxed. "So I get a try-out?"

"We need six other teams, at least, to form a league, McCloud. You might even get to captain one, if you're up for it."

"Think I'll let you see to that yourself," he replied, bumping my shoulder in open flirtation.

Ew,  _no!_  I hadn't been flirting! Merlin, save me.

I smiled sweetly at him before I gave him a wide berth and let him down easy. "No, I don't think so. You'll have to bring your ace flying game to the try-out if you want to captain your own team. Now, please be discreet about this, McCloud. This is supposed to be a secret, after all."

Whatever flirtatious energy he'd been giving off swiftly disappeared for the rest of the patrol. I hadn't meant to embarrass him, and I felt terrible for having to act so sternly, but I couldn't have my prefects  _flirting_  with me during patrols! I demanded some respect! I mean, I was their Head Girl!

Before we parted ways in the Entrance Hall, however, I threw him another bone. "Quidditch pitch tomorrow. Try-outs start at six o'clock."

He pinked somewhat and nodded very quickly before dashing, presumably, to Ravenclaw Tower.

On Wednesday night, Jen, James, and I had created a table of team rosters. We had enough students signed up for at least eight teams. If there was even a small possibility of expulsion hanging over me, I would at least have a paper trail and several students' signatures in my defense. Even Mary Macdonald had agreed to ditch my team to make room for a non-Gryffindor member.

"I need to focus on my studies if I'm ever going to get on the fast-track as a curse-breaker," she'd said.

By Friday, we had significantly prepped for our rematch, and had even had to cut one particular practice short as Bellatrix's team requested the pitch for practice as well. It had been a rather civil affair, with James and Sev coming to another agreement over Hippogriff.

This game was bloody magical!

Had we been less busy drafting a season's worth of players, and holding a few flying seminars for the less-talented students (eager to be taught by the Gryffindor Quidditch Captain and the Winged Wronski Warrior), we would have taken more notice of the note Dumbledore posted on the Heads' office door that mentioned "a visit from the Committee of Applied Academics."

I would have been less surprised than I was to find myself in the middle of the Quidditch pitch, stands filled with avid Winged Wronski Warrior fans, my teammates clad in black and violet robes beside me, our opponents sporting grey and white robes themselves, and their leader, Bellatrix Black, smiling graciously at a group of older gentlemen as they approached us in the middle of the pitch.

"And here is our Head Girl," I heard her say in dulcet tones. It almost made me nauseous. "Lily  _Evans_."

At least a half dozen pairs of eyes rested suddenly on me. The man at the fore of the group was rather handsome, with unforgiving dark eyes, and pale blonde hair slicked back sophisticatedly, though his lips pressed into a thin line of displeasure at the sight of me.

I stepped forwards. "Pleasure to meet you," I said.

"Evans?" he sneered. "Where's your family from, girl?"

Nonplussed, I answered, "Cokeworth, Sir."

His nostrils flared as though he had smelt something rather unpleasant. "I don't recall there being a House of Evans in  _Cokeworth_ ," he said.

I suddenly knew exactly where he was going with this, but I couldn't let it get there without my consent.

So I laughed. "Oh, that's rich! My parents will love to hear that! A 'House of Evans'? In Cokeworth? Ha! Very good, Sir!"

I laughed once more for emphasis. Because really. He was being decidedly classist and, dare I say,  _rude_. I gathered from his appearance that he was well off, and seemed to use his rank in wizarding society to degrade those of us from less wealthy (read: magical) backgrounds. And I'd found that laughing at that sort of haughtiness worked to subvert whatever power play was going on. After all, how can you have the upper hand when someone is  _laughing_  at you?

Finally, I calmed down enough to say, "I expect you're enjoying your tour of the grounds, Mister—? Ah, sorry, didn't catch your name."

He made a humming noise of disapproval while Bellatrix glared at me, but another man behind him seemed to be hiding a smile.

Interesting.

The elitist man sniffed once more before answering. "I am Abraxas Malfoy, and my niece has informed me of a rather interesting development. It seems your headmaster has had some trouble enforcing the school governors' rulings, because even though we moved to ban Hippogriff, it appears you are preparing for a match as we speak."

James came up beside me then. "Not at all, Mr. Malfoy. Professor Dumbledore has been quite immediate with the ban."

Abraxas raised a single eyebrow, and I could almost make him out thinking,  _Who are you? How dare you speak to me?_ I had to resist rolling my eyes. Clinging to traditions from some bygone era, it was the etiquette amongst traditional Pureblood families not to speak to someone above one's rank unless directly addressed, especially if there hadn't been any proper introductions between the two individuals.

"My apologies, Sir. It's been awhile. James Potter, Head Boy, at your service," he clarified in a suddenly  _very posh_  speech, and stuck out his hand.

His accent made me pause almost comically, and I couldn't help myself from cocking my head to the side in befuddlement.

At James's speech, Abraxas bristled with recognition. It seemed that at one point, the two  _had_  been introduced after all, though this Abraxas fellow wasn't too impressed. I vaguely remembered Sirius going on about how although the Potter Manor was well-connected, it was a little on the unpopular side with more traditional Pureblood families due to its Muggle-friendly history.

The elder wizard eyed James's hand with subtle disgust before taking it and giving it one very severe shake. "Potter," he acknowledged. He cast one sidelong glance at Bellatrix in slight resentment.

Bellatrix only smirked in reply.

Abraxas exhaled sharply. "Kindly explain to me what it is that is going on here. I don't like to have my time wasted."

James grinned brilliantly. "We're getting ready for our rematch, Sir. Surely Black's told you all about it by now?"

A short, greying man pushed himself to the front of the group of school governors. He pulled a very reluctant Nott behind him. Ah, so it was Nott Senior. "Not on my watch!" he screamed, mustache twitching above his mouth. "My boy was almost killed by that Muggleborn wench while playing this commoner's sport! I'll not have it!"

It seemed the crowd must have got wind of what was going on because a sudden wave of booing reached our ears. At Jen's beckoning, the rest of my team went up into the stands to join them. Right on cue, too; it was time for the final part of our elaborate plan to pull one over on Bellatrix Black. All James and I had to do was keep this conversation dragging on and buy them enough time for us to deliver the final blow.

The stands cheered at the appearance of Jen and my teammates and began chanting, "WRONSKI WARRIOR!" I failed to keep a smile from splitting across my face at the energetic tumult. Abraxas held one hand up, however, and that was enough to quiet the stands.

"Nott, we have already signed a ban," Abraxas said coolly to the purple-faced Nott Senior. Then, he turned to Potter and me. "You cannot play."

"I think you'll find we can, Sir," I challenged.

His grey eyes appraised me swiftly. He sniffed, apparently unimpressed. "And how is that?" he asked, seemingly bored.

I grinned. "You only banned Hippogriff from Operation Fire Dragon, Sir. According to Article Six, Section Three of the school bylaws, we are well within our rights to organize a mixed-House Hippogriff league."

The smiling man from before let out a chuckling laugh. "You've got us there, eh!" He was rather younger than the other school governors, with aviator-style glasses, long sideburns, a handlebar mustache, and carnelian-colored eyes sparkling in mirth. "A club league! Malfoy, of all the things! Who could have predicted they'd come up with this?!"

This seemed to annoy Malfoy spectacularly. "Shut  _up_ , Fenwick!" he muttered through clenched teeth.

"Uncle, what are they talking about?" Bellatrix asked in a sickeningly sweet voice.

Malfoy's face was unkind as he shot her an irritated glance. "It would seem you have unwittingly taken part in a mixed-House league, Bellatrix."

Bellatrix blinked. "Uncle, I would  _never_  enlist in such a thing! All my team members are in House Slytherin, of course—oh!" Understanding seemed to dawn on her as her gaze fell upon Dorcas Meadowes, whose face suddenly reddened significantly.

"It would do well for you to choose your counterparts with more discernment, Niece," said Abraxas, eyeing Dorcas with barely-disguised dislike, "so as to avoid making any  _unsavory_  connections."

I was mortified at his frank judgment of Dorcas Meadowes, a perfectly neutral party in the whole affair, whose only offense was belonging to Ravenclaw House.

Meanwhile, Fenwick practically lost his mind, grinning as giddily as he was. "As school governors, we have the right to restrict academic activities, but, I think it's safe to say a  _club_  league is definitely outside our jurisdiction, wouldn't you, Malfoy?"

Abraxas Malfoy turned very slowly to peer down at his smiling colleague, condescension clearly etched around his mouth. "If that is the case,  _Fenwick_ , then I will be happy to review our students' proposal for a Hippogriff league." He turned an icy stare in our direction. "I trust your papers are in order?"

I rolled my eyes. Psh. A  _proposal_. Did he think we were born yesterday? I prepared to smirk as I stuck my hand in my robe's pocket to pull out our roster of Hippogriff teams—enough to make up a whole league.

Only the bloody thing wasn't there.

Frowning, and trying desperately  _not_  to panic, I dug through my pockets unceremoniously as I realized that the paper trail I'd been relying on to get me out of hot water with the school governors was not currently on my person.

The size of my gape could have swallowed a Quaffle whole.

My  _roster!_

I continued to dig through my pockets in obvious desperation and turned to James, who returned my wide-eyed gape, equally unhelpful, and started rummaging through his own pockets.

He came up empty-handed as well.

"Er, I—"

"That is to say, of course everything is—"

"—our papers, right!—"

We stood there dumbfounded and sputtering for several seconds, Bellatrix Black settling into a rather smug smirk.

James and I might as well have been Stupefied, since we grasped at thin air for some sort of explanation, some sort of anything to get a grip on this conversation.

_Where in the bleeding fuck was our roster—?!_

Malfoy held up another hand and James and I stopped our useless blathering. We shifted slightly closer to each other in solidarity.

"I believe we are agreed, then?" began Abraxas.

"Er," I said smartly. We stared at him a bit longer, unsure where he was going with this.

His pursed lips twitched at one end when we didn't answer. Finally, he deadpanned, "Without the proper procedure through the proper channels, Hippogriff is thus banned from Hogwarts."

I should have been offended at this attempt at intimidation, but instead, I finally got a grip. I addressed the elder Malfoy and the rest of the school governors. "Please, sirs. If you'll give me a moment, I'm sure you will all be satisfied."

I didn't give them a moment to protest, spinning on my heels and pulling James by the hand to the side of the Quidditch pitch. "Lily, where the bleeding hell is our roster?" he muttered anxiously.

"I'm not sure, but we have to find Jen!" I instructed over my shoulder. "At the very least, she'll have done the petition!"

He pulled his hand out of mine (I had to resist the urge to feel devastated at this very obvious sign of rejection as Lily Evans, Failure Flirt) and pointed at the stairwell behind the nearest stands. "I think she's coming to find us," he observed.

Jen was sweaty and red-faced, apparently having run from the other end of the stands to get to us. She jumped down the last four steps and half-jogged, half-limped to us, a tightly rolled scroll of parchment in hand.

"Li—ly," she said between breaths. "We've—got—just—about—enough—" She took in a huge gulp of air, a hand grabbing at her side. "Blimey, that was a lot of stairs!"

"Jen?" I asked.

She put up a half-hearted finger, doubling over at the waist as she took in a few more deep breaths, and clearly still distressed from her run.

James and I exchanged a look. His was amused, mine nervous.

Finally, she came back up looking tired and all kinds of hellish, but the flash of determination in her eyes was enough to keep me alert. "Firstly, you realize you can Summon things when you've left them in the Common Room, yes?" She held up the scroll in her hand and didn't let me respond. "Secondly, Malfoy is a terrible bigot and I can't believe he asked you for a proposal when we don't even need one—I mean, he just has to get his head out of his arse for two seconds to see how much student support we've got for this!"

"Bureaucrats need everything in writing," James deadpanned. "Smarmy bastards."

"I know!" replied Jen, her mouth pouting comically.

I blinked. "But do we have it in writing? Because that seems to be the important bit, smarmy bastards or not."

James threw an arm around my shoulders. "Evans, look around you! What d'you think?"

I looked up at the stands and realized, for the very first time, how very popular this (supposedly secret) match seemed to be to the school. The stands were nearly full. Amongst the crowd, I could make out my teammates, scattered here and there, passing around long sheaves of parchment.

Marlene, identifiable by the large afro she was sporting this week, was half-hidden behind a colossal sign with the words "WRONKSI WARRIOR: SHE'LL DESTROY YA" written on it in glowing, threatening violet.

"That's a nice sign, but I hardly think it's enough," I murmured, blushing in spite of myself.

"I meant the lads," James said, gesturing vaguely at a haggard Remus, a frantic Peter, and a schmoozing Sirius, each with their own scrolls of parchment at various sections in the stands as they collected signatures. "And McKinnon."

Suddenly, my attention was back to the sign—that sign! About the Wronski Warrior! Somebody had written it! About me!

Before I could get too caught up in feelings of pride and personal glory, I scanned the rest of the crowd and spotted one, Frank Longbottom, who was perched over a railing, a charmed camera hanging loosely from his neck as he scratched feverishly on his notebook.

"Oh, wonderful," I muttered disdainfully at the sight of him.

Jen, in an almost comically melodramatic way, presented James with the scroll in her hand. "Since Lily abandoned this, I'm entrusting it to you, Potter."

James nodded as though he completely agreed with her judgment and I scoffed. "Rude!"

Jen ignored me. "Just go back there and get us a bit more time. I'll get the team to come down with the petition."

"You're bloody brilliant, you know that?" he said, flashing her a swoon-worthy grin.

She rolled her eyes. "I know." She turned around, groaned at the sight of the stairs, muttered, "Yet meet thine enemy, Jennifer Till," and climbed back up to the stands.

I smiled at James. "Is that our roster?"

"I suppose so," he replied vaguely, clenching the unopened scroll in one fist. "Your mate just saved our sorry arses."

I smirked. "Makes sense. Your mates get us  _into_  trouble, and my mates get us out."

James laughed, grabbed my hand (I had to resist the urge to grin hugely at this extremely obvious sign of flirtation; this was  _so_  not the time), and pulled me back to the school governors, who were grouped rather awkwardly around a very annoyed Malfoy. We approached just as the rest of Bellatrix's team came up to surround her, a sea of silver and white meeting the multi-colored robes of all the school governors in the middle of the green.

Malfoy looked expectantly at us, a hand firmly gripping the silver serpent handle of a long cane.

He'd been in Slytherin.

Of course. Why was I even surprised?

Before he could remark on how it was unacceptable to make him wait, however, James apologized for having been so unclear about our  _very popular_  Hippogriff league before.

"In a moment, I guarantee you'll find everything in order, Mister Malfoy," James said.

"I'll not have it!" screamed Nott Senior. "Abraxas, you must dissolve this at once!"

Malfoy held up a hand—it seemed to be his move—and he fell silent, if a bit sulky. "It doesn't matter. The students need at least six teams to form such a league, and only two seem to exist."

"Ha!" Bellatrix laughed, baring her teeth in a smug smile.

Wordlessly—and quite arrogantly, considering he hadn't even bothered to look at it—James offered the ageing wizard the scroll of parchment previously entrusted to him by Jen.

"What's this?" asked Abraxas, looking down his nose at the scroll, refusing to take it.

Fenwick rolled his eyes and stepped forwards. "Oh, honestly, Malfoy. It's a bit of parchment, you gutless germ," he muttered, taking the scroll. He unraveled it, and after a long half-minute of perusal, he surfaced with a smirk to rival Bellatrix's infamously smug snarl.

Malfoy instantly ripped the scroll from Fenwick's hands and he and the rest of the governors pored over its contents.

Fenwick shot a wink at James, who grinned amusedly.

"Oi!" called Marlene's voice from behind me. Before I could worry too much about what exactly was on that scroll, I turned to see that the rest of our team had gathered around James and me, followed by a stream of Hogwarts students.

"Nice of you to join us," I muttered.

"Well, while you and the Captain here distracted the governors, the rest of us went around and got you all of these signatures," she countered, nodding over at Jen, who held several sheets of parchment in her hands. "You're welcome, by the way." She cradled her arms to her chest, clearly holding herself back from doing her disco arms.

I snorted. "Thanks, I just hope it works."

"Why wouldn't it? Jen's a genius." She flashed me a congratulatory grin. "We're all  _geniuses_."

"Ms. Evans," came the sharp low tones of Abraxas Malfoy's voice. "If I understand this correctly, you have single-handedly organized a mixed-House league of Hippogriff without the knowledge or permission of any of Hogwarts's governing bodies."

I met his steely gaze and did not immediately answer. If I answered in the affirmative, I was sure to be on my way to getting my wand snapped. So I banged on about some other technicality. "As you well know, Mr. Malfoy, it doesn't need any authorization," I said, waving vaguely about the stadium.

I tried not to grin too hugely as I finally got a handle on this confrontation.

This was it; Part 2. Everything we'd prepared for, everything we'd rehearsed since we decided to form a mixed-House Hippogriff Club League came down to this moment.

I looked back at the elder wizard. "Not when it's got two-thirds of the student body's support."

Malfoy's nostrils flared so violently, I thought perhaps he would breathe fire. "And are you or aren't you singularly responsible for this league?"

"Actually, Sir," cut in Jen, as she placed herself protectively between me and the elder Malfoy, "it was more of a  _team_  effort. As you know, Article Six, Section Three of the school laws permits club leagues as organized by the student body at its sole discretion as long as it has a majority two-thirds vote of said body in the affirmative. Which, as you can see," she continued, looking around at the gathered masses of students on the pitch, and then handing over the pile of parchment in her hands, "we definitely have."

Malfoy smirked, apparently amused. "And you are—?"

Jen smiled. "Jennifer  _Till_ , Sir, at your service."

"I take it your parents are Lombard and Patricia Till of the High Wizengamot Court," he said, inspecting her with a discriminating eye.

"The very same," she answered.

"Very well." He seemed to give in a little at Jen's display. Apparently touting around the Potter name wasn't enough to win him over—but cite the fact that you'd likely be up against two high-powered barristers, and Abraxas Malfoy was willing to back down.

I'd have to keep that in mind for any future encounters.

After a few minutes of tapping the parchments with his wand, presumably testing for any forgeries, Abraxas cleared his throat. "As Speaker of the School Governors, I must uphold and enforce all of Hogwarts' school laws. Therefore, it is not within our power to ban an inter-House league as so formed and supported by the student body, so long as it does not interfere with applied academics."

There was a collective cheer from the students behind me. Nott Senior sputtered angrily, his mustache bouncing under his nose as though it were an agitated caterpillar, and Bellatrix looked ready to murder.

Of course, Malfoy held up a hand for silence, and continued. "However, I  _can_  stop Ms. Evans's team from competing in this league due to Article Six, Section Three, Subsection F."

Bellatrix laughed openly, and looked as if she could clap in excitement.

Jen immediately pulled out a worn leather book from her robes, the words  _Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry Book of Laws_  glinting in faded gold, and shoved it at me. I scanned the cited subsection and looked back up at Malfoy, unfazed. "That's easily sorted, Mr. Malfoy," I said. I set a determined stare on Bellatrix. "And when it is, we'll be playing to win, full-on."

James grabbed the book from my hands, Sirius and Marlene crowding around his shoulders to glimpse a better look at it.

"Article Six, Section Three, Subsection F,'" James muttered behind me. "'Club leagues must remain separate from intermural sports teams; no student competing in an intramural sport may participate in a club league." He sighed.

It meant neither Sirius, Marlene, nor Cara Wood, the Hufflepuff Quidditch Keeper that we'd recruited, would be able to play on my team. And Quidditch Captain James? Out of the picture.

"Oi, that's not fair!" Marlene cried.

"It's alright," I said. "We'll just need to regroup."

"That's your entire team, mate!" she insisted, her eyes large with worry.

I shrugged, resolute. "Rules are rules, right governors?"

Fenwick shot me a weak thumbs-up from behind Abraxas Malfoy, who only nodded in clear resentment.

"So, no match today, then?" asked a keen Frank Longbottom, who popped up between the two confronting parties with notebook and quill in hand.

Malfoy shot a nasty look at his niece, who seemed to look appropriately ashamed for having wasted his time. "I think our business here is finished," he said to the rest of the governors, and made to leave the Quidditch pitch.

"I think that's a 'no,' mate," said Peter to a disappointed Frank.

"Right, right," Frank answered, nodding into his notes. He was so completely absorbed in writing everything that he failed to notice that Peter had spelled his hair bright purple, and when he made his way over to Jen, presumably to ask for the legal details of the story, she doubled over laughing in hysterics.

The school governors, meanwhile, followed the imposing figure of Abraxas Malfoy off the pitch, with the exception of the young Fenwick, who remained behind, chatting animatedly with James.

Nott Senior was telling off his son, who seemed to have no other outlet but to glare daggers at Bellatrix, and she was currently sulking between Yaxley and Mulciber, her black school uniform contrasting against their grey and white robes.

She seemed to have predicted the canceled match this afternoon, but failed to foresee that we now had an even more legitimate arena in which to play out our little rivalry.

I sauntered over to her, gathering up my nerve to face her. "Black," I said.

She turned around and appraised me, disgust growing ever evident in her face until she met my eyes. "Mudblood," she replied. "What do you want?"

"I just wanted to thank you, for taking this whole thing up with your uncle," I declared. "It was good of him to help us legitimize the league. It might have taken months to get a meeting with him otherwise."

She scoffed. "Oh, sod it, Evans. You don't even have a full team. You can't compete."

"That's easily sorted, Black. And since you just tried to pull such a cowardly tactic, I think it's time we renegotiate our terms."

"Oh, don't flatter yourself, Evans; the bet is off.  _I_  was merely concerned about our Head Girl thinking she's above our school's rules," she said, mock-innocently, "who was forcing me to play a game that'd been banned. I simply  _had_ to ask my uncle for advice."

"Well, maybe he can advise you how to get your team into shape for the league. Because I'm playing to win, Black, and it'd be nice if when the whole school watches us beat you, fair and square, it's in the finals. Unless, of course, you'd rather admit defeat."

She rolled her eyes, clearly trying to appear as though what I said hadn't bothered her, but underneath her icy exterior, I could sense her fury. "Never," she said, her voice cold and cutting.

"Well, then," I smirked. "Welcome to the big leagues."


	11. Welcome to the Big Leagues

What I thought had been a private moment of gloating and mocking between Bellatrix and me somehow ended up as the headline of Frank's Monday edition zine.

" _WRONSKI WARRIOR: 'WELCOME TO THE BIG LEAGUES'"_ seemed to glare out at me from every direction in the Great Hall that morning.

I didn't even bother reading it this time, as Jen had been quick to sum up that I should be ashamed for stooping so low as to taunt my arch nemesis when I so clearly needed to tone down my ego a few notches.

"She's right about you not having a team, Lily. That hasn't changed."

We were in the Great Hall, breakfasting on scones and scrambled egg. Jen was busy fixing herself a cup of tea and so missed the fact that I'd rolled my eyes at her.

Sirius and Marlene couldn't be on my team anymore as they were already on the Gryffindor Quidditch team, and Article Whatever, Section Kiss-My-Sorry-Arse, Subsection STUPID prohibited them from participating in both a club league and an intramural sport.

And even though Mary had gracefully given up her spot so that Hufflepuff Cara Wood could officially make my team inter-mixed, she also happened to be the Hufflepuff Quidditch team's keeper. I was now Lily Evans, Wronski Warrior, Hippogriff Team of One.

"You'll need to hold another try-out and recruit from there," she went on, apparently unaware that I was quickly losing interest in her condescending tones.

"Why can't you just join me in the relay?" I whined.

She finally looked at me, shock on her face. "Lily, I couldn't! I haven't the first idea of how to be an athlete."

"And you think  _I_  do?" I snorted. "Fancy that."

"You're the Winged Wronski Warrior, Lily," she said, and a bout of "Hippogriff, hip hip!" resounded around our table in a wave of encouraging, if boorish, cheers.

Jen shot a nearby group of fifth-years a haughty glare before turning back to me. "You see what I mean? You've a fan club now, and it's only got to do with this Hippogriff nonsense."

I tried to indulge in some woe-is-me act, but I honestly couldn't commit to it. Instead, I smiled widely at the thought of having a fan club. I was Lily Evans, Head Girl and Winged Wronski Warrior, Bringer of Light, Righter of Wrongs, and Harbinger of Good—

Jen scoffed. "And it's  _really_  inflating your ego, Lily. Honestly, you and Potter are more alike each day."

I gasped, affronted. "Take that back!"

Jen merely tapped a nearby copy of  _The Hogwarts Post_  in response, the headline practically shouting at me in angry caps: ' _WELCOME TO THE BIG LEAGUES.'_

I narrowed my eyes at her. "We all know Frank can get a little sensational," I said.

"You would have never  _gloated_  before all of this, you know. You can't say this hasn't changed you."

I sighed, and changed the subject. "So if you won't be on my team, I suppose I can ask Remus and Peter."

"It's also an inter-House league," Jen said. "You'll need students from other houses if you want to compete."

"Oh, bother." I rubbed my face in irritation. "The only friends I ever made outside of Gryffindor no longer speak to me. And are both, incidentally, on my enemy's team."

"Severus and  _Dorcas_ "—she said the latter's name with some difficulty at remaining impartial—"are simply people with different—priorities, but you shouldn't hold it against their houses, Lily."

"I never said I was," I argued. "But outside of you and the girls, and Sev, I hadn't really needed to look for more friends."

My gaze set upon the Slytherin table, searching for that familiar head of black hair. Instead, it fell upon the dark brown hair of Abed Cassimi, who sat apart from his house mates at the end of the long table.

"Well, there's no time like the present to be looking for new friends, Lily," chastised Jen, but I wasn't really paying attention to her anymore.

Because I'd had An Idea. A Crazy, Half-Baked Idea, but An Idea, nonetheless.

"Jen, you wouldn't happen to know if Abed Cassimi can fly, would you?"

Jen gave me an exceptionally annoyed look. "We're all taking Operation Fire Dragon together, Lily. And since, until about ten days ago, you were the only seventh year who didn't know how to fly  _at all_ , I'd say that chances are good that Abed Cassimi can fly."

I scoffed, equally annoyed. "I meant, can he fly  _well_?"

"Bit of a relative term, isn't it?"

"You're  _exhausting_!"

"You should hold a try-out and invite him, if you're so keen on Cassimi flying for you."

"Well, obviously."

I quickly scanned the rest of the Hall, hoping my gaze would land upon some inspiration. Instead, I was overwhelmed with the prospect of locating flying talent amongst the student body. Any student that had been interested in flying on a Hippogriff team had already joined one or was otherwise engaged in some inter-House activity that prevented them from participating in a club league.

"Jen, I move we banish Subsection F."

"Ah, for that we'd need the governors," she returned, pointing at me with her fork. "And with Abraxas Malfoy as Speaker, I doubt he'll grant the amendment, if he even lets your proposal get to the floor within the year."

"Sod Malfoy. Sod Black. Sod this whole ruddy thing! Hooch should have just let us duel this out in the first place, then we wouldn't be in this mess!" I complained, ripping apart my scone and stuffing it in my mouth.

"Alternatively," Jen added, "you could have been honest with everyone about your flying ability, or a little bit more even-tempered, and you probably would have made better choices."

I glared at her. "Jen, I already  _know_  this is all my fault. Just let me shift the blame for a minute out of the day so I don't go completely nutters and charm a swarm of scones to hit Bellatrix on the side of the head."

She sighed. "You're not in this alone, Lily. The only reason we can have a club league with mixed-House teams is because the rest of the student body supports the idea. We got eight teams together in a matter of days! And the Heads of House are already designating a lot of land to a proper Hippogriff stadium so we don't disrupt Quidditch practices. Just remember that apart from putting Bellatrix in her place, you're actually fostering the sort of inter-House cooperation that could end this war."

I laughed, moved by her words in a way I could not otherwise express. "I hardly think a bunch of kids racing on broomsticks will end the war."

She smiled mysteriously but didn't say anything more. "I think Cassimi will be in the library, if you wanted to ask him about doing a try-out," she said, nodding over at Abed, who was standing up from the Slytherin table, a pile of books in his arms.

"Brilliant! Thanks, chum!" I called to her as I practically fled the Hall in pursuit of my potential recruit.

Abed was already several paces ahead of me when I reached the Entrance Hall, but his gait was steady and moderate, and I caught up with ease. "Morning, Cassimi," I said, sidling up next to him.

He turned to look at me, surprised. His large brown eyes were framed by long, thick eyelashes that curled upwards in a way that made me envious. He had  _very_  pretty eyes. "Evans!" he returned. "Good morning." He smiled, displaying two prominent dimples in either cheek.

"Headed to the library?" I asked, nodding over at the books in his arms.

He chuckled. It was a nice laugh. "I'm on return duty. I have a habit of hoarding whole subjects and Madame likes to send me angry owls about it. Threatened to banish me from the library if I didn't return these."

I eyed the spines of the books he carried. They were all on the subject of the Ninth Goblin Dynastic Kingdom. "Fan of goblins?" I inquired.

"Fan of passing History of Magic, more like," he answered. "What about you? Going to the library as well?"

"Actually, I was hoping to talk you into doing a try-out for my Hippogriff team. If you're interested."

Abed seemed genuinely startled by the idea. "M-me?" he sputtered. "I'm not exactly the athletic sort."

"Can you fly?" I asked.

We'd reached the library doors by then, and he deposited his books on the enchanted Returns Trolley before turning to me. His hands free, he placed one on the back of his neck uncertainly. "I suppose so."

"Do you rise or break under pressure?"

Abed cocked his head to the side, and replied, thoughtfully, "I never break under pressure."

"And wouldn't you like to have the opportunity to befriend members of other houses in an environment that would nurture and encourage such relationships?"

He smiled a brilliant smile. "Love to."

I arranged to owl him once I set up a try-out, and we parted ways.

Unless Abed was a total dud on a broomstick, I had at least one other team member. Jen would remain my referee, I would double as racer and captain, and if I was lucky, Remus and Peter would agree to join my team as well.

I found them not soon after at Gryffindor table, their plates piled with bacon, beans, and toast. "Morning," I greeted them.

They gave their hello's through mouthfuls of breakfast, which gave me ample opportunity to ask them to join my team.

Remus pinked slightly. "I'm very flattered, Lily," he started, wiping the corners of his mouth politely with a napkin, "but I'm afraid I mustn't commit to anything that may suffer from my absence should my mother fall ill and call for me."

I nodded in understanding. He'd had many visits home to his ailing mother over the years. "Of course."

Peter grimaced when I turned to him expectantly. "Oh, rotten luck, Evans. I have to refuse as well. Unfortunately, the Wizard's Chess club is considered inter-House, and it's my last year to finally annihilate Gavin Flint."

I slumped in my seat. "This Subsection F rubbish is such a killjoy."

"Chin up, mate!" called Sirius, wiping his mouth on the sleeve of his robe. "You're Lily Evans, Head Girl, Winged Wronski Warrior—anyone else would be mad to say no to your team!"

I tried not to let it bother me that Sirius Black had just said aloud what I had thought to myself not twenty minutes earlier.

Remus shot him a look.

"I said ' _anyone else,'_  love," Sirius murmured, smiling down at his boyfriend.

Remus shook his head. "I appreciate the disclaimer."

Then, looking as though he'd just rolled out of bed, but still managing to appear as attractive as ever, James joined his mates at the table. He was typically late for breakfast, as he preferred to sleep in, a habit that didn't go unnoticed by his best mate.

Sirius whistled at him. "Morning, gorgeous!" he teased, eyeing the wilderness that was James's hair.

"Any more beauty sleep and you'll wake up a girl," said Peter.

Jen and I shot him disapproving glares.

James just laughed. "Oi, shut up. I'm man enough to admit that I can be just as beautiful as Evans or Till here." He took a seat next to me, and I tried very hard to ignore my quickening heartbeat and appear as normal as possible.

He was just a bloke. Sitting next to me. Nothing to worry about, Lily! Just breathe properly. That's it, one breath at a time.

Remus coughed. I panicked for a moment, thinking he might have been  _observing_  my attempts at normalcy and  _deducing_  why I wasn't behaving normally once James had sat himself beside me—had I given myself away?—but either way, James missed it entirely.

"Or Moony," James added, and he and the rest of the Marauders (including Remus) cracked up at what must have been a private joke.

Jen turned to me, a question on her face, but I shook my head. "Not a clue," I responded, as the Marauders continued to laugh.

"Why the long faces, eh, girls?" asked James, piling sausage and eggs on his plate.

"Not enough sleep, apparently," I answered dryly, which sent the four boys around us into another round of hysterics.

I shrugged, confused by what seemed a disproportionate reaction to a very bad joke. Jen and I stared at the boys, hoping for some sort of explanation, but all we got was Sirius winking, and Peter holding up a hand, saying, "Marauders' honor, innit?" followed by more laughter.

"Right, well, perhaps one of you may find it  _honorable_  to think of  _someone_  who could join my Hippogriff team?" I asked irritably.

James sipped at his breakfast tea. "Who have you got so far?"

"I've just asked Cassimi to do a try-out for me, but other than he and myself, I'm still half a team short. Not to mention second-string."

James and the rest of his mates deliberated amongst themselves before Sirius popped his head up and declared, "D'you know what? Ask Sruthi. She knows everything."

"She knows things before they even happen," added Peter.

"She's very  _observant_ ," explained Remus.

James snorted. "She loves gossip, is what it is. But she won't share a secret if you don't give her one in return."

I raised an eyebrow. "Is she like the Gringotts of secrets or something?"

Sirius chuckled freely, his laugh filling up the whole table with warm reverberations.

James shot his mate an amused expression before turning back to me. "Or something. Best catch her on her own, though, or you won't get a straight answer from her."

I wondered at this new description of a girl who had been so kind and encouraging just days earlier. And I wondered what sort of secret would be of enough value to uncover the information I so desperately needed just to get a full Hippogriff team together.

"Has anyone seen her this morning?" I inquired.

Jen mumbled something through her biscuit.

"Helpful," I said. "Think I'll start in the Common Room. Reckon she isn't even awake yet."

" _Bonne chance_ , Evans!" called a cheery Sirius Black as I got up from Gryffindor table and began a journey back up to Gryffindor Tower, seven stories up.

Have I mentioned yet how pointless I think it is that we're forced to do Operation Fire Dragon for  _physical fitness_?

As I meandered across the flagstone floors of the Entrance Hall and towards the Grand Staircase, the light tumult of morning chatter from hungry students headed to breakfast pitter-pattered around every corner of the castle, giving it a sort of eerie, sentient quality.

I passed Frank Longbottom's newsstand, newly erected due to more demand for stories of Hogwarts' latest gossip—er,  _news_. I stared in disbelief at the queue that had formed in front of it, Longbottom waving his most recent attempt at journalism high in the air for all to see.

And that's when I noticed it.

The photograph on the front page was not of the school governors or the massive amount of school support flooding the Quidditch pitch, nor was it even of the standoff between Bellatrix and me—the one that had provided Frank a useful headline.

No; the photograph Frank Longbottom had published for the whole school to see was one of me laughing hysterically in Abraxas Malfoy's stony face.

I looked absolutely mad, off my rocker, totally barking!

And worse than that, it appeared as though I was laughing  _at_  him, when really, I'd been nervously laughing through his attempts to make me feel inferior for being Muggleborn.

It was completely out of context!

I turned on my heel and shoved my way to the front of the queue in front of his stand, shouting "Head Girl coming through, sorry, excuse me," and finally, I was face to face with Frank Longbottom.

"Morning, Evans!" he greeted me. "Made the front page again, and apparently, you're a best-seller!"

I lifted my eyebrows at him. "Frank, I know you took better pictures than this one," I said, pointing to the photograph on the copy of the zine he held aloft in one hand. "Why didn't you use any of  _those_?"

"Unfortunately, I don't have final say on editorial decisions," he answered diplomatically. He bit his lip and sighed, dropping his hand and the zine to his side. "I'm really sorry, Lily. I tried to add in a bit about how Mr. Malfoy wasn't very nice to you, but it was cut out as well."

He seemed genuinely apologetic, so I didn't try to make him feel any worse. "That  _is_ unfortunate, but I understand you aren't to blame." He seemed relieved. "So," I started again, "who  _does_  make final editorial decisions?"

"That'll be old Auggie. Says so right here, Evans," he answered, flipping to the inside cover of his zine, where, printed in tiny lettering, ran the following:

_Augustus Rookwood, Editor-In-Chief._

"Mind if I take this off your hands, Longbottom?" I asked, though I wasn't really asking, as I had already picked up the zine and made to leave.

"It's all yours, Evans!" he called after me. Then, to the crowd of students, "Not to worry; there's plenty of copies for everyone! Don't miss the excitement, folks! The saga of the Winged Wronski Warrior continues!"

He was talking about me as though my life were some sort of serial novel. I didn't have time to focus on that—my thoughts were with Sruthi and Rookwood.

Augustus Rookwood and I were in the same year. He was in Hufflepuff House, and we may have partnered in Herbology once or twice in fourth year, but apart from that, we had never really spoken.

I tried to recall those times in Herbology. Had I done something to give him a bad impression? Had I been unfriendly or rude? Had I hurt his feelings? Was he holding a grudge against me?

It was the only possible explanation for choosing  _that_  photograph and omitting important parts of my interactions with Abraxas Malfoy the day before.

* * *

 

I had just stepped foot in the Gryffindor Common Room when Sruthi appeared from the girls' dormitories.

"Sruthi! There you are!" I called warmly.

Her bright green eyes widened in surprise. The look of shock she wore did not falter as I cleared the distance between us. And she was alone!

"I've been looking for you," I added. "Mind if I sit? I've had such a morning!"

Sruthi shrugged and sat down on a deep scarlet couch. "You've been looking for me?"

I took a seat next to her and nodded gravely. "Yes. I was told you might be able to help."

She cocked her head to the side, her long, curly hair falling over her shoulder in a dark curtain. "What's wrong?"

"I need to beat Bellatrix Black in the Hippogriff leagues—"

"And you don't have a team," she finished for me. She frowned. "How am I supposed to help with that?"

"Oh," I blushed. "Er, well Sirius mentioned you might know of—"

She cut me off again. "Sirius sent you?" She giggled.

"And Peter, and Remus, and James."

Her eyebrows shot up her forehead. "Then this is—this is on them," she muttered, looking down at her hands. She fidgeted with her hands for a moment, and finally settled her gaze on me. "Alright," she said decisively. "I'll help. But—you can't tell anyone else that I did."

"Sruthi, what are you—?"

This time, she did not interrupt me with words, but with her actions. She took a deep breath and closed her eyes. When she opened them, her beautiful green irises were gone, and instead, only the whites of her eyes were visible. Her mouth hung open, and in a voice that wasn't quite hers, she whispered, "Abed Cassimi, Caradoc Dearborn, Lily Evans, Bertha Jorkins, Fabian Prewett, Gideon Prewett, Harriet Seabury, and Jennifer Till."

"Sruthi?" I whispered back in mild terror.

Sruthi closed her eyes and breathed in deeply, the sound rattling through the air like the dragon skeletons kept hanging from the rafters in the Defense Against the Dark Arts classroom. When she opened them, I was relieved to see they were back to normal, striking green and only slightly otherworldly.

"What just happened?" I asked.

She swallowed. "You won't tell anyone, will you?" She seemed worried.

"No! Of course not!"

Sruthi nodded, and began to plait her hair absentmindedly as she explained. "My mother is a descendant of Freyja, the old Norse goddess. The women of her family will sometimes present with the ability to go into a trance and answer questions about the future. They hadn't had one in a few generations. Until me. So, I'm still working on it."

She was officially the most amazing person I'd ever met, probably.

"So you're like a Seer?" I asked, my voice full of awe.

She shrugged and let her half-plait swing behind her. "Sort of, except I don't really see visions. I just channel information. And I can control what information I receive. Well,  _sometime_ s I'll get something more than I asked for—" She closed her eyes again suddenly, and whispered something unintelligible.

"What?"

Her eyes flew open and locked onto mine. "You have feelings for James Potter!"

I blushed even more than I had before.

"Don't worry, I won't tell anyone," she assuaged, grinning widely. "But you should tell him how you feel."

"I don't  _know_  how I feel," I responded, realizing for the first time how utterly confused I was about James Potter.

"Really?"

I frowned. "All I know is that I nearly had a panic attack when he sat next to me in the Hall just then. Dunno what that means exactly."

She sighed. "It's always easier when you're on the outside looking in, I suppose. That's how it was for Remus and Sirius, you know. I had to reveal myself to Sirius because I just couldn't stand the way they kept looking after each other all forlornly."

"I'm glad you use your powers for good," I laughed.

She grimaced. "Don't tell them I told you that! It was supposed to be a secret."

"Your secrets are safe with me," I assured her. No one would believe me anyway.

She smiled appreciatively. "Well, I'm starved," she said, getting up abruptly. "I'm off to the Great Hall. I'll see you around?"

"Yes, of course. Thank you, Sruthi."

She waved and was off.

I ran up to my dormitory and pulled out a scrap of parchment. I had to write down the names she'd recited before I forgot them all. The Prewett twins were certainly unexpected, and I supposed having Harriet on the team would encourage Cassimi and disperse any anti-Slytherin sentiments.

I paused as I wrote Dearborn's name. I'd had even less interactions with Caradoc than I'd had with Augustus Rookwood. I think I may have borrowed some parchment off him in second year in the library. Still, he seemed a nice enough fellow.

Now who on Earth was Bertha Jorkins?

* * *

While I was tutoring Mary and Marlene in Charms, McGonagall sent an owl requesting to see me, only she hadn't specified in which office. I tried her office in the Transfiguration classroom, but it was locked, and so I grumbled all the way up to Gryffindor Tower—what was the point of OFD again?!—as I made my way to the office of the Head of Gryffindor House.

She let me in after a knock at the door, and I made my way into the outrageously scarlet room Godric Gryffindor had used to hold court. Probably.

Professor McGonagall stood at an empty bookshelf on one side of the room and promptly Transfigured it into a camel.

"Oh!" I exclaimed in surprise. "How astonishing."

McGonagall's lips twitched. "I'm surprised after seven years of this and you can still be astonished, Ms. Evans."

The camel trotted over to McGonagall's desk and immediately scooped up a sheet of parchment between its teeth.

"Oh, dear," muttered McGonagall. She whipped out her wand and Transfigured the camel back into a bookshelf, but it was too late; a large wad of chewed up parchment fell to the floor in a sticky mess.

"Any chance that wasn't important?" I asked.

McGonagall raised an eyebrow at me as she Levitated the wad up into the air and aerated it with a mild Heating Charm. "Unfortunately, it's the reason I asked you here, Ms. Evans." As she flicked her wand to the side, the parchment unfolded itself. "Of course, the ink's gone all runny." She sighed and let the parchment drop onto her desk elegantly.

"How—er, astonishing," I said, attempting a joke.

Professor McGonagall didn't laugh, but she didn't look as stern as usual as she gestured at the plump armchair before her desk.

As I sat down, she said, "I should remember to warn my sixth years to watch their camels for any mischief next week. Now, Ms. Evans. This Hippogriff league of yours."

"Erm, it's the whole school's, Professor, not just mine." I felt obligated to correct her.

This time, I would have sworn at Circe's feet that she  _had_  smiled. "I am aware of the fact. It was quite a united front you and the rest of the students presented to the governors. They were so  _astonished_  at the insurrection. Mr. Nott resigned his post in the face of it!"

"I—er…"

Holy Merlin. Nott Senior had resigned from being one of Hogwarts's school governors? That was practically unheard of! Those posts were mostly inherited, which meant that he'd also resigned for his entire family—it meant the younger Nott wouldn't have that post in future, either. At least not without a proper campaign, etc.

"Would you like a biscuit, Ms. Evans?" McGonagall asked, holding out a tin. The smell of baked sugar and vanilla was incredible.

"Yes, please," I said. The biscuit was marvellous. I couldn't believe I was eating one of McGonagall's mythical I'm-proud-of-you biscuits!

The professor went on to tell me that the parchment had been a letter from the Ministry, agreeing to send over an official and trained referee from the Department of Magical Games and Sports to oversee the league as soon as Hogwarts could provide the appropriate facility for the game.

"A Hippogriff pitch," she clarified.

I frowned, halfway through my second biscuit (she had offered me a second one! I wasn't going to decline her!). "Can't we just use the Quidditch pitch?"

"It's not regulation size for an official Hippogriff league, I'm afraid. Apart from that, the pitch is booked through to the end of the Quidditch season."

I finished off my biscuit and asked how long it would take to raise the funds for a new pitch, and if it was even worth trying.

"It is most certainly worth trying, Ms. Evans. It is quite expensive, as it will require rather complex magic to accomplish. You'll need at least one certified Charms expert, a Transfiguration Master, a Herbologist, and a trained Spellcaster to build you a pitch."

The figure needed to pay all those witches and wizards was nearly impossible, and my heart sank. There was always some obstacle or other to overcome with this ridiculous plot! How in the world were we supposed to raise the amount of money to hire such experts in their fields? "Right. So—there goes that, then. Thank you for the biscuits."

They'd been  _bad news biccies_. I'm never trusting those biscuits again, no matter how delicious they were!

I was halfway out of my chair when she spoke again, "Of course, if you'd allow—it would have to be accepted by the Head Boy and Girl as a gift to the students, you see, to absolve the school of any direct influence on the league—the other Heads of Houses and I are, respectively, a certified Charms expert, a Transfiguration  _Mistress_ , a Herbologist and a trained Spellcaster. We'd like to offer the students a new Hippogriff pitch, free of charge."

She was definitely smiling now, there was no mistaking it. I was practically spluttering with gratitude.

"Might I tell my colleagues we have approval from our Head Girl?" asked McGonagall.

"Yes, absolutely!" I said, nodding emphatically. "This is— _Merlin_! Sorry, I'm just so—"

"Astonished?" She peaked over at me from behind her cat eye-shaped glasses.

"Definitely."

She offered me another biscuit, and I happily accepted that as well.

* * *

At dinner the next day, I found myself once again slightly distracted by James.

So, even though I had my plate full with Head duties, tutoring, recruiting students to my Hippogriff team, and the fact that McGonagall had offered me not one, but  _three_  I'm-proud-of-you biscuits, my attention drifted back to the one thing that shouldn't preoccupy my thoughts at all.

James's hair.

It was just so…  _wild_. As though he'd gone to battle with it, on a horse, with no helmet, because that's the sort of thing James Potter might do—go to battle on a horse without a helmet, the arrogant idiot. And instead of  _irk_  me, thinking about James Potter going to battle on a horse with no helmet, I was  _fascinated_.

I shifted my gaze to find the sticky-uppy patch at the back of his head, but he'd turned around and instead, our eyes met.

I could have held his gaze. I could have smiled, appeared actually normal, but instead, because I am Lily Evans, Klutz Extraordinaire and Failure Flirt, I immediately looked away, began blinking uncontrollably, and had to feign a series of violent sneezes just to make my fit seem justified.

I excused myself immediately from Gryffindor table, holding a napkin up to my face to complete the farce and to also conveniently hide the fact that I was blushing strawberry fields forever. As I exited the doors, I noticed someone approaching me from my periphery, and I made a show of sneezing,  _just in case_.

"It's only me, Lily."

Ah, of course.

"Remus," I said in spite of myself.

He smiled shyly, and I could tell just from the way that he refrained from saying anything that he knew  _exactly_  what had just happened.

"Was it obvious?" I asked, dropping the napkin from my face.

The lanky boy in front of me seemed to sink further into his ragged robes. "I expect you'll get a lecture from our beloved Head Boy about maintaining a strong constitution as Hippogriff Captain, but I don't think he'd ever dream of concluding that you simply fancy him."

"Oh, sweet Merlin," I groaned. I buried my face in my hands. "I can't believe this is my life right now."

He draped an arm lightly around my shoulders and gave me an awkward pat. "There, there."

"Please don't tell anyone," I begged, feeling so vulnerable and desperate to keep this information under wraps.

It was just all so confusing! And new! And bizarre! And, did I mention confusing?

Remus chuckled. "I would never!"

I peered up at him nervously, silently begging him to take this seriously.

He smiled his small shy smile again. "Marauder's honor."

It was the second time I'd heard that phrase that day. "What does that even mean?"

"It means I would rather die than betray your trust," he answered rather seriously.

I nodded, pressing my lips together solemnly. "You're a cheerful lot, aren't you?"

He laughed, and pulled away. Remus eventually convinced me that worrying about this was as useful as trapping a ghost, and that I needed to concentrate on more important matters.

"I knew that already, Remus. It is why I am currently languishing in self-conscious dismay."

"Get on with it, then."

He could be very no-nonsense, this Remus fellow, but in a very kind and understanding way. He was the very definition of compassionate, and I found myself wondering how we'd got to this point—where I was trusting him with a secret that could potentially ruin lives, mine included—and how natural and easy it had all felt.

Sometimes, I thought to myself, your soul mates are hiding out in plain sight.

Speaking of soul mates, Sirius Black left us very little time alone, and he was soon meandering around the Entrance Hall, searching for his boyfriend. Spotting us, he smirked charmingly, his elegant features rendered even more handsome with the upward curve of his lips.

His face consisted of delicate angles: there was the slight bump in his Roman nose, chiseled cheekbones that resulted in attractive hollows across his cheeks, a pointed chin hidden behind a well-manicured goatee, beautifully grey eyes hooded beneath thick eyebrows, and eyelashes so pale they were nearly invisible.

He had a rather pale complexion, but it brightened considerably whenever he was within the vicinity of a fellow Marauder. In the presence of Remus Lupin, he positively glowed.

More than anything, however, was the air about him. It became so much  _cooler_  than it was before he showed up. "Oi, afraid he's already taken, love," he called over to me once he'd found us.

"Yeah, well so am I," I returned before I could stop myself. I couldn't have said anything more incriminating.

"Oooh!" Sirius clapped his hands and leaned in as though ready to devour a most delicious dish. "Do tell, Evans."

I could have lied. I could have said literally anything else, like that I had been joking, and there really wasn't anyone. I could have made up an unknown Muggle boyfriend on the spot. There would be no way he could prove me wrong. I could have pretended that I had a secret relationship with Hamish Diggory (which was a rumor he'd started himself last year anyway).

I could have lied.

But, I panicked.

And when I panic, I don't exactly make the best decisions.

In this case, I shot a wide-eyed look of pure panic at Remus, choked, "No thanks!" and made a dash for the stairs.

I remembered that Remus had promised he wouldn't tell anyone, but I wasn't sure how long he could keep this from a prying Sirius Black.

* * *

By the end of the weekend, I'd managed to successfully ask everyone but Bertha Jorkins to a try-out. She was notoriously un-findable.

So I merely shrugged and tried to get on with forming a Hippogriff team that could theoretically abolish my nemesis in a non-duelling scenario. I figured I'd have many of those to look forward to off the Hippogriff pitch and after graduation.

Jen and I stood side by side with clipboards in hand, and a captain's whistle I'd borrowed off of James around my neck. I tried not to think about how even though he'd used a Cleansing Charm on it, his lips had habitually pursed around it. (His LIPS! I was practically kissing James Potter one-whistle-removed every time I used it!)

Before me, with Cleansweeps and Shooting Star broomsticks held in their respective grips, were many Hippogriff hopefuls. I was pretty sure I'd ask them all to be on the team; it was just a matter of who would be first and second string.

The Prewett twins, both of Hufflepuff House, were eager and cheerful to get on. They were fraternal twins with completely different faces, though they sported equally shocking red hair, much brighter than my own. Gideon was tall and stocky, and Fabian was short and wiry. They'd immediately agreed to do a try-out, stating they would be delighted to fly for the Winged Wronski Warrior herself.

Turns out being a bit of a Hogwarts legend has its perks.

Abed had tried to back out at the last minute, but after I'd invited Harriet along, he seemed much more game. They stood side by side, quiet and uncertain, I suppose, of the group's dynamic. They were the only Slytherins in a group of non-Slytherins, after all.

Caradoc Dearborn had been entirely noncommittal to the try-out at first, although flattered I'd sought him out in the library, and intrigued by the prospect of playing an ancient wizarding game.

He was about my height and wore the most naff spectacles I'd ever seen, which were vividly orange against his obsidian skin, and which he would nervously adjust and wipe clean with the sleeves of his robes. He was also one of the few Hogwarts students who preferred a bowtie over a necktie, though the look did nothing to appease the altogether unfashionable way he presented himself.

Strangely, and perhaps unsurprisingly, Caradoc Dearborn was rather self-possessed and open to this experiment of mine. That's how I had sold it to him, anyway.

I'd said, "Caradoc—may I call you that?"

He'd nodded emphatically.

"Right. Caradoc, I really believe it would be of great interest to you to join my experiment of a Hippogriff team. I am choosing from the least likely pool of athletes, as it is where I would have placed myself not two weeks ago, in order to glean pearls of wisdom from this most ancient and grand wizarding sport."

"Experiment?" he'd repeated excitedly. He'd pushed his glasses up his nose, his dreadlocks falling in his face as he swivelled suddenly in his chair to face me completely.

I'd caught his attention. Appealing to his Ravenclaw sensibilities was actually working! "I understand you're busy, but I'd love to have you. Think about it. Try-outs are tomorrow afternoon at the new pitch."

And he'd actually shown up, a school broom by his side, and sweatbands around his wrists. Practical, albeit objectively hideous.

"Alright, recruits," shouted Jen. "Let's get started then, shall we?"

We had them race each other and clocked their times, then set up Beating exercises for them to complete. Lastly, we created a team-building exercise that would force them to communicate with each other on the pitch, as they would in a real match.

For this exercise, I joined them.

To my delight, Abed was amazingly perceptive and just  _knew_  where to be. It was almost as though he were a descendent of Freyja himself!

Fabian and Gideon were excellent at communicating with each other, but had some trouble getting Harriet and myself, later on, to efficiently hand off a dud Snitch.

The worst communicator of us all, however, was Caradoc. Instead of using any sort of comprehensible language, he'd shout and wave his arms about like a loon. He only carried it off because he was so fast, he was practically a bird on a broom! He wasn't a Ravenclaw for nothing.

On the other hand, Harriet was loud, if a bit clumsy on her broom (though I couldn't pretend I was any better). She kept the twins focused, gave Abed encouragement when he needed it, and was quickly able to decipher the awful arm-waving signals that Caradoc transmitted at lightning speed.

All in all, it was an interesting dynamic. None of them were outright awful at the various parts of the game—they were all decent flyers, no one was too slow to race, and they could safely wield Beater's clubs better than I had on my first try (which resulted in Mulciber's very bloody nose).

They were better than me in many ways, but they had no direction yet. I had a vision for this hodgepodge gang, and I'm sure Jen could see it, too.

We exchanged secret, happy smiles when I touched down. Sruthi had led me to a pot of gold, and as soon as I found out what her favorite sweets were, I'd be ordering heaps of them to leave on her bed in gratitude.

"Well, then," I addressed my sweaty, out-of-breath recruits. "Congratulations, you've all been accepted. Practice schedules and confirmation forms will be Owled to you by tomorrow morning. I trust you'll all have a pleasant night's sleep."

Fabian and Gideon whooped with joy and congratulated each other with a chest bump, in which Fabian went flying backwards, stumbling into Harriet, who only burst into laughter. Fabian grinned and slung an arm around her, and said, "We did it, eh!"

Caradoc stuck his hand out to Abed, who shook it timidly. "Well done, old chap!"

Abed smiled. I could practically feel the relief rolling off his shoulders. "You, too, mate," he answered.

"Oh, one more thing!" I said, grinning. "Welcome to the Big Leagues."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just in time for the new term at Hogwarts! Enjoy. :)


	12. Trask's Theorem

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Apologies for the very late update. The opera I'm working on completely overtook my life last month, but I promise to be more timely with subsequent chapters. Anyway, to make up for the long wait, enjoy lots and lots of fluff with a touch of angst and a drop of laughs. :)

I actually had my very own Hippogriff team.

They'd all owled back signed forms confirming their memberships, and their respective schedules with times that worked for our practices.

Working out the perfect timetable would be a nightmare and a half, especially since Caradoc was still taking astronomy for some ungodly reason, and that took up most of his evenings.

And Harriet and Abed had very rigid study periods that they'd allocated in such a way as to never be in the same place as their other Housemates.

Gideon and Fabian were fairly flexible, thank goodness, but it hardly mattered.

I was too excited for this to put it into words.

I, Lily Evans, was Captain of a magical sports team!

_ME!_

I could barely fly on a broom a few weeks ago, and now, here I was, captaining an entire team on my own! Well, sort of.

Jen was my referee and legal counsel, which meant she had studied up on the ins and outs of the game's rules, as well as the school's rules about the league itself.

The Hippogriff pitch that the Heads of Houses had created was one and a half times the size of the Quidditch pitch, as the parameters of the game required. Actual hippogriffs needed much more room to get up and fly and the handoff used to be quite a dangerous affair. More than one medieval witch or wizard would inevitably be pecked away by their teammate's own hippogriff for having lacked the appropriate respect a hippogriff demanded.

For that reason, wizards invented the chant, "Hippogriff, hip, hip!"

Or at least, this is what Caradoc Dearborn wrote in the "Confirmation of Membership Addendums, Annotations, and Additions" letter he'd neatly pinned to my original forms.

Apparently, the chant would alert the awaiting witch or wizard of the incoming teammate, so they would prepare their hippogriff for sudden contact with another hippogriff and witch or wizard.

It's also the reason for the tradition of no contact between opposing players while racing. It could get quite dangerous atop actual hippogriffs. And when wizards switched over to broomsticks, the rule just stuck.

Or something.

It's all very complicated, and as  _interesting_  as Caradoc says it all is, I'd

much rather focus on the present way of playing the game instead so I can beat Bellatrix Black and maybe create some sort of inter-House cooperation to snuff out all of this blood supremacist nonsense.

It seemed a little absurd, though after last night's try-outs, I finally understood what Jen had meant.

These teams are  _all_  inter-House, which means they've got to work together at a common goal, using their differences as their strengths to create a better whole.

I don't know why this House system was implemented in the first place! I sometimes like to think that maybe if Sev and I had been in the same House, we'd still be friends. He wouldn't have spent so much time with all those bad-apple Housemates, and their blood supremacy ideology wouldn't have influenced him so much.

He wouldn't have called me a Mudblood.

He might have even stood up for me.

His face wouldn't be so unfamiliar.

I sighed loudly into my soup, causing its surface to ripple and splash against the sides of the bowl.

"Alright, Evans?" asked James, who sat a few seats away.

I'd taken to avoiding him the last few days as I was still unsure what—if anything—I felt for him.

Also, he hadn't exactly gone out of his way to be around me, so I wasn't sure he'd noticed I'd been avoiding him, anyway.

My worst fear was that if I admitted I had feelings for him, I'd also have to admit to the fact that he probably didn't feel the same way about me anymore—if he ever did. Which, according to Remus Lupin, he did, but that's not exactly first-hand confirmation of anything.

And it's not like I could just outright ask James Potter if he fancied me, or if he used to fancy me, or if he  _still_  fancied me.

I would sooner face a boggart than face that.

So, without looking at his stupidly attractive face, and ignoring the growing balloon in my chest at his sudden attention on my person, I responded, "Still alive."

His chuckle warmed me up from the inside out, and I blushed as he slid down the empty bench and stopped just across from me. "Ah, but at what cost?" he said, his voice light and teasing.

My eyes met his.

I couldn't help myself! I had zero control of myself around him. Even when I thought I did, I didn't.

His hazel eyes laughed at me behind his glasses, as they always seemed to do. His lips were pulled into a half-smirk, a witty reply waiting patiently on their edges.

I was nervous.

He was making me nervous!

Lily Evans, Head Girl, Wronski Warrior, and Hippogriff Captain, defeated by one, James Potter's frigging  _smirk_.

I wanted to roll my eyes, but I couldn't look away from his.

Instead, my mouth, on its own accord, responded for me. "It's Sev."

Oh, bother. I hadn't meant to actually be  _honest_. Why couldn't I flirt like a normal person? He'd probably want to end the conversation as soon as possible.

"Are you still hungry?" he asked, gesturing to my soup.

I shook my head, disappointed that he'd changed the topic altogether.

"Good. I think this subject deserves a less public environment, don't you?" he said, getting up from the table.

James picked up a few corned beef sandwiches and wrapped them in a napkin before stuffing them into his pockets. He made eye contact with the Marauders and nodded over at me. "Duty calls," he explained vaguely.

"Our Head Boy never rests," proclaimed Peter solemnly.

"We'll miss you, Prongs," said Remus.

"But not as much as you'll miss us!" finished Sirius.

James grinned at them. "Shut up, you gits."

"I feel attacked," said Sirius, and James waved him off with another smile.

I pushed my half-eaten bowl of soup away and picked up my things, following James out of the Great Hall.

"Where to?" he asked. "There is many an alcove in the castle, empty classrooms are a dime a dozen, and we shall avoid suspicion in the Heads' office,  _but_ —I don't suppose you'd fancy a stroll about the pumpkin patch?"

It sounded a bit like a date, that. A  _stroll_  about the  _pumpkin patch_.

But you wouldn't ask someone out on a date that was going to happen a few minutes later, would you?

Either way, my heart was racing and my resolve to run away was fading by the second. That longingness in my chest just wanted to be wherever James was going to be. And if James wanted to  _stroll about the pumpkin patch_ , then, my heart concluded, so did I.

"That sounds perfect," I replied.

When he smiled down at me, his whole face lit up, and I was a goner.

He could have asked me to go into the bowels of the sewage pipes, and I'd have agreed.

This was terrible!

He grabbed my hand and pulled me towards the courtyard entrance.

This was  _bloody fantastic!_

My face was practically on fire from the sheer feeling of his warm, callused hands around my cold ones. He'd pulled me in the correct direction, but he was still holding my hand.

James looked down at me, curiously, rubbing my fingers between his thumb and forefinger. "Your hands are so soft," he mused. Then, he grinned. "No wonder you couldn't stay on a broom!"

I scoffed and pushed him away in offense. "You had to go and ruin a nice moment, didn't you?"

James smirked devilishly. "What was so nice about it?"

I blushed freely, unwilling to admit anything aloud.

He laughed lightly to himself, and held open the courtyard doors for me. "Come on, then."

He was such a flirt! And not only that, but  _he knew it_!

Ugh! Remus Lupin was so wrong about him. James Potter didn't  _fancy_  me! He was just a flirtatious knob who liked to embarrass people with his stupid smiles and I couldn't believe he'd finally gotten to me!

Mortified, I walked quickly past him without looking him in the eye, trying to push away the feelings of disappointment that were making themselves at home in my heart. It wasn't until I got all the way to the courtyard nearest Hagrid's hut and his legendary pumpkin patch that I stopped thinking of James Potter holding my hand and trapping me with his charms.

My thoughts drifted back to Sev.

He and I had roamed this patch one early October morning, much like this one, when the fog was so thick, we nearly had to use our wands just to see our feet. Instead, we carved intricate designs on the sides of some of the pumpkins, baited the insides with Fairy-Glo, and waited for a few fairies to appear and light them up in splendid colors.

It had taken nearly a whole hour, but soon the pumpkin patch was alight with delicate fairy-lights. We were only third-years and hadn't realized we'd ruined the whole crop of squash with a fairy infestation, but it was quite a beautiful sight while it lasted.

Come to think of it, we were never properly punished for that particular faux pas. It's likely that Hagrid probably enjoyed the happy accident too much to report us.

I smiled sadly at the nearest pumpkin, wiping a stray tear from my cheek.

I couldn't believe I was still upset over the boy who turned on me in front of the whole of fifth year, and then only apologized when he realized I wasn't willing to play a double life with him.

Friends in private, in the thick of the morning fog where no one could see us, in the shelter of a tree across the lake from the Quidditch pitch during matches, in abandoned classrooms to "study away from the noise and pressure of the library."

Severus had been kind and cynical, clever and bloody helpful with Transfiguration, funny and witty, and sometimes outright miserable—but only around me, and only when we were alone.

I thought it was because  _I_  was special to him and he could be himself around me.

But the moment his Slytherin peers showed up, he was in agony.

Severus made a show of his struggle between our friendship and the acceptance of his peers.

I used to think it was a struggle for survival in his House.

I never thought it was a struggle between his beliefs and his impossible relationship with someone whom his beliefs deemed unworthy.

When Petunia had turned on me, Severus had been there. He'd called her an idiot for rejecting me.

"You're magical," he'd said. "It's a good thing."

When James finally caught up, he was frowning, his hands pushed nervously into his pockets, his weight shifting slightly from foot to foot. "Are you okay?"

I still couldn't look at him, so I simply shook my head weakly.

He awkwardly reached out an arm and gave my shoulder a squeeze. "Do you want to talk about it?"

I pursed my lips.

His arm immediately retreated. "It's okay if you don't want to—"

I cut him off. "I want to." I took in a deep, steadying breath, then looked up at him.

He stared at me worriedly, his expression one of concern and compassion. His eyes didn't laugh at me, but twinkled in a way that said,  _safe_.

"My sister"—James's eyebrows went up, but he didn't say anything—"she doesn't understand magic. It frightens her, I think, and maybe even makes her feel un-extraordinary, because her little sister was born with it and she wasn't." I glanced at him again, asking with my eyes if he understood.

James nodded.

I pressed on. "She and I were really close before I got my letter, and now—we hardly speak." I glanced at the pumpkin patch in the distance. "Severus was the one who always told me she was a moron for not accepting who I was: a witch. And Severus was also the one who helped me accept it for myself. It was the only thing that got me through my quickly declining relationship with my sister. Before Severus,  _she'd_  been my best mate. She was my only sister, my role model, my whole world.

"So when  _he_  turned on me, it hurt so much more than it should have. I felt as though he'd been lying to me for so long—because he clearly didn't accept me for who I was, either: a Muggle-born."

James was silent for a long moment, but in that time, we began walking towards the pumpkin patch. He inched closer to me with every step, sending my heart racing slightly, but I refused to move away.

"Listen, Lily," he said, finally. "I can't entirely understand what you're going through; I've never belonged to two different worlds. But I know what it's like to lose your best mate, and feel like a part of you is missing, a part of you that you have no control over and no say in. You can only hope that whatever happens, it's for the best—the best for you."

We'd reached the end of the courtyard, and Merlin knows I didn't want to cry, but there I was, wiping silent tears off my face because James Potter had somehow put into words  _exactly_  what I was feeling.

James hugged me into his side, his hand rubbing comforting circles into my back. It only made me want to cry more.

Noticing I wouldn't be able to hold up my end of the conversation, he continued, "There was an— _incident_ —last year, and I could hardly speak to Sirius, I was so angry. Everyone else was able to forgive him, but for some reason, I couldn't. I didn't speak to him for two months."

I looked up at him, my eyes wide. I'd had no idea he and Sirius had had such a falling-out. Although, I do remember Transfiguration suddenly being much quieter than usual. And James Potter spending more time in the library. And his duels with Severus and the other Slytherins—they'd nearly disappeared altogether.

He mistook my expression and shrugged sheepishly. "I know it isn't as long as two years, but it was agony. Anytime he tried to apologize, he didn't mean it, and it only made me angrier. I couldn't understand why he'd let this—this  _incident_  happen, or how he could be so blasé about it all. Or why he didn't think to—to…"

He trailed off and stopped walking, lost in thought, the memory of his anger distracting. I reached up to cup his face in my hand, to try and shake him out of it. It was all I could do, without speaking. My throat had closed up from trying to keep my crying silent.

His eyes closed and he leaned into my touch. My heart skipped a beat at his reaction. I had to fight the urge to lean forward and kiss him.

"I almost forgot," he nearly whispered, startling me and my gradually ascending lips. "That we were brothers." His eyes opened, and he caught my hand in his. "We were lucky we were able to work through it, because we're closer than ever now. But I can't even begin to imagine what a mess I'd be if we hadn't."

I nodded slowly, and cleared my throat. "And you're okay?"

He squeezed my hand. "He chose me, he chose  _us_ , and we worked it out."

I sighed heavily again, dropping his hand and walking toward the pumpkin patch. "Sev didn't choose me. He says he cares about me, but he's selfish. He can't have his beliefs and my friendship, too."

"So you chose you. That's the only choice you have left sometimes, and it's okay. It's painful as hell, but it's okay, or—it will be."

We walked at a steady pace up the moors leading to the pumpkin patch, the fog of the morning thick and damp as it pressed against us.

I looked up at him, in awe of his ability to make everything feel better, even if for a moment. Whatever self-doubt I'd had in my role with Severus Snape, it had vanished the moment James said, "it's okay."

Because it was.

I reached for his hand as we neared the pumpkin patch and didn't let go.

* * *

Sruthi accosted me on the second-floor landing in front of the library. "So, I was on my way to check up on our class bowtruckles, when I saw you and James  _holding hands_  in the pumpkin patch!"

I immediately shushed her and pulled her into an alcove behind a tapestry of a giant's feast. "Shh! Sruthi, keep it down!"

"So it's true!" she gushed. "Oh, I'm so happy you finally told him how you feel!"

I grimaced. "Er—I actually didn't get around to that."

She looked confused. "But you were holding hands!"

I bit my lip. "We were having a moment. An understanding, of sorts."

Sruthi's head cocked to the side. "While holding hands."

"Er, yes."

"Do you frequently have understandings with people while holding hands?" she questioned.

"Not particularly," I said smartly.

She hummed a confused sort of sound, her brow furrowing over her striking green eyes. "I don't think James has a habit of doing that, either."

I blinked.

"Which can only mean," she continued, "that he's just as scared about his feelings as you are!"

Now  _I_ was confused. "What?"

"Neither one of you wants to make a move because you don't want to ruin your friendship with romantic possibilities. So, instead, you're living a platonic hell of mutual misery," she finished, matter-of-factly.

"Sruthi."

She shrugged. "I don't know if they told you, but the price for the future is a secret, and this one just keeps evolving."

"Is that a Freyja thing or a Sruthi thing?" I asked, nonplussed.

She smiled. "It's a Freyja thing. In order to take information, I must give some in return."

"To whom?" I said, bewildered.

"To Freyja."

"Right. Well, tell Freyja to mind her own business. James and I are just friends."

"Who hold hands in pumpkin patches because it's less scary than snogging!"

I pushed her out of the alcove and she burst into laughter.

"Just keep me updated," she said through the biggest grin ever. "You can't tell me you aren't  _dying_  to tell someone what's going on between you two!"

I couldn't exactly argue with her, so I just tutted at her and continued on my way to Gryffindor Tower.

I wasn't sure who else had seen us holding hands through the thick fog, but I hoped Sruthi would keep my secret.

* * *

"Evans!" called Sirius as I stepped into the common room.

I waved back at him in greeting, but he got up and blocked my path to the girls' dormitories.

"Can I help you?" I questioned, amusedly.

He nodded. "I was just wondering. What sort of Head duties require you and Prongsie to take a few laps around the pumpkin patch?"

"Er—pumpkin inspection," I replied, thinking quickly (and not very cleverly). My whole face heated up and I prayed I wasn't blushing to boot.

Sirius barked with laughter. "Pumpkin inspection? That's a load of balderdash, if I ever heard any!"

I was definitely blushing.

"Alright, you, me, and Boyfriend. Upstairs. Now," he instructed.

Sirius led me up the boys' staircase and into an unfamiliar dormitory. Someone closed the door behind me, and I turned to find Remus Lupin, one eyebrow quirked in amusement as he assessed me.

Before I could ask what in Circe's ghost was going on, Sirius rounded on me and pushed me onto the nearest bed. "Have a seat," he said.

"Sirius, what on Earth?" I protested.

He shook his finger at me. "No time for that now, Lily. We've important matters to discuss. If you're going to start anything with James, you have to be sure— _so_  sure—because that boy is in love with you and has been for a  _very_  long time, and I won't stand for you breaking his heart!"

What. Was. Happening.

Remus sighed. "Well, that could have gone better," he muttered. He rolled his eyes at Sirius, who simply shrugged unapologetically in reply. Remus turned to me and sighed again. "What Sirius  _means_  to say, Lily, is that he is very protective of his friend, and would simply like you to be  _considerate_  if you wish to act on your feelings."

WHAT. WAS. HAPPENING.

I sat there in absolute shock.

First Sruthi, and now these two?

All because James and I had walked around a few giant pumpkins?

_While holding hands?_

Except,  _they_  didn't know that part, so why were they so adamant about feelings and James getting his heart broken?

"We were just talking," I said, finally.

"That's not what the Map—" Sirius started, but Remus cut him off.

"Are you  _sure_  that's all it was?" Remus asked. His eyes bore into mine, and I realized that he was all too aware of my tells to believe any of my lies.

I deflated in front of them. "He's just—he's bloody confusing, alright? One minute he's making fun of me and flirting like he flirts with everyone and has done all his life, and the next he's so kind and comforting and bloody  _sensitive_  and his  _hands are warm_ —but then he insults me—and then he's empathetic and he just  _gets it_ —and all the time, I have this bloody balloon in my chest that makes me do and say stupid shit literally  _all the time_ —and I can't lie to him  _at all_ , which is maddening—and I'd probably follow James Potter to the ends of the Earth because I just want to be where he is because he makes things okay even when they're impossible—and—and ..." I looked up, suddenly realizing where I was, my eyes widening in horror.

As though in slow motion, Sirius Black's face lit up like a thousand suns as the most genuine of smiles graced his aristocratic features. The smug smirk on Remus Lupin's face had me more than a little infuriated, because I  _hate_  being so predictable, but the startling shriek that burst out of Sirius's face distracted me to sheer terror.

He pranced forward, wrapped his arms around me, and knocked me backwards into the mattress. "Yes! I didn't think I'd live to see this day!" he shouted into my hair.

Remus must have pulled him off of me, because his overexcited body was suddenly ripped away.

"She clearly needs to process this, Sirius. Why don't you make sure James doesn't come up?" Remus suggested.

Sirius was bouncing on his feet in delight. "Good idea!" he said. He planted a sloppy kiss on Remus's lips, which Remus wiped away on his shoulder in amusement, and bounced out of the room.

"Now that that's sorted," Remus said, approaching my sprawled form on the bed. "I believe you might be on the verge of realizing some very important things."

"I'm in lust with James Potter?" I asked, looking up at him innocently and hoping to Agrippa that that's all this was—just hormones!

Remus chuckled. "I think it goes a bit deeper than that, Lily."

"Where does it go?" I asked, my voice faint and afraid of the answer.

Remus sat down at the other end of the bed. "That's something you'll have to work out on your own."

"You won't tell him, will you?" I asked.

Remus placed his hand over mine briefly and retreated it. "Of course not."

It was different than the way James held my hands, different than the way my fingertips spoke with the angles of his jaw and cheekbones, different than the way his thumb savored and caressed the back of my hand—different because Remus's touch was a momentary comfort, and James's touch held the promise of eternity.

* * *

I didn't see James again until Potions with the Slytherins the next day. I'd gotten partnered with Harriet Seabury for the fall, and we'd bonded over our love of terrible takeaway.

"Spag bol's the best, innit?" she said. "Especially when you have it with some buttery garlic bread."

"Harriet, stop! You're making my mouth water!"

We had about ten more minutes to kill until our potion was ready. Sensing our imminent boredom, Slughorn asked me to go and help the pairs that were struggling with their potions.

"Rotten luck," murmured Harriet sympathetically.

I gave her a pathetic wave as I went off in search of frowns in the room.

That led me straight to Marlene and Peter, who were peering over their cauldron with equally furrowed brows.

"Need any help?" I asked them as I approached.

Peter sighed in relief. "Please! Before Slughorn offs us both!"

I took a peek into their cauldron. It was a muddy yellow color, instead of a bright green. "Did you forget to add beetle's eyes?"

Marlene stepped back and scanned her work station in a panic. "Oh, bollocks," she mumbled. "That was  _my_  job as well!"

Peter ducked under their desk and returned with a small vial above his head. "Actually, s'my fault," he admitted. "I knocked this over when we were putting all the ingredients together, but I thought you'd already used it, so I didn't bother picking it up."

Marlene boffed him on the back of the head and snatched the vial from his hands, muttering darkly under her breath.

Peter grimaced, patting his head gingerly. "I deserved that."

Marlene added a teaspoon of beetle's eyes to their potion and stirred them in counter-clockwise. After a few moments, their potion began lightening up markedly. It wasn't quite a bright green, but it was as close as they were going to get considering they'd added the beetle's eyes at such a late stage in the process.

"Oi, Head Girl!" called Sirius's voice from across the room. "Having a bit of a catastrophe over here!"

I immediately turned on my heel towards his voice.

He'd been partnered with James. Of course.

Although, as soon as I reached his work station, Sirius had disappeared, and I was left turning in circles looking for him.

"Lose something?" asked James, a hint of a laugh in his voice.

"I don't even know," I answered vaguely, still searching for Sirius. "Where'd that idiot of your best mate go, anyway?"

"With his partner."

This time, I chanced a glance at James. " _You're_  his partner," I said.

"Are you sure?" he said, and he nodded over to the northeast corner of the room, where Sirius was bottling a sample of  _my_  potion! And Harriet was helping him!

"What?!" I said loudly, in disbelief. Harriet,  _my chum_ , in cahoots with Sirius!

James only chuckled long and hard in response.

I crossed my arms. "I worked hard on that potion!"

"Oh, come on, I'm not  _that_  bad," he rejoined, referring to his only-slightly-above-average potions skills.

"You're no Libatius Borage," I mumbled, alluding to the author of  _Advanced Potion Making_.

"And you are?" he said.

If there's anything a Gryffindor can't do, it's back down from a challenge. So in perfect know-it-all fashion, I smirked and peered into his cauldron. His potion was on the verge of turning the correct shade of bright green. I sniffed up at him. "Give it another stir, counter-clockwise."

He did as I instructed, albeit not without a quizzical brow, and the potion brightened up to the correct color. He looked up at me, astounded.

I shrugged, smug. Potions were in my wheelhouse, after all.

"You're amazing, you know that?" he said, poring over the simmering green of his potion.

"Nice of you to notice," I quipped.

James's gaze caught mine, his eyes smoldering in the cauldron fire, and my breath caught in my throat. "I always have."

* * *

After that particularly overwhelming Potions lesson, I decided I needed to steer clear of James Potter until I knew what in the world I was feeling.

Which was a lot.

I already knew I was physically attracted to him— _Merlin_  was I attracted to him! I had, on more than one occasion, almost kissed him. Once in the common room, and then again in the pumpkin patch.

The first time I thought I was just reacting to him wanting to kiss me. But in the pumpkin patch, I'd  _really wanted_  to kiss him.

In that moment, James wanted me to know that I wasn't alone, that he understood even a little bit of my fall-out with Sev. He didn't once talk about how Sev was a bad person, he didn't invalidate our friendship, he didn't even make it all about himself.

He cared deeply about his friends, and they obviously felt the same way.

He'd helped me learn how to fly and play Hippogriff, and now I was captaining my own team with the skills and leadership I'd learned from him.

He was by my side as we stood our ground against the school governors. He didn't feel the need to save me unless I specifically asked him to; he let me fight my own battles, let me stand up for myself.

These were all things that my outdated and totally wrong idea of James Potter would have never done.

I was definitely emotionally attracted to him.

And then there was the way he could turn anything into a joke, and the way that I could easily follow up with one of my own.

He had this proud and noble air about him; he knew what was important in life and he had no problem defending it. After all, the reason he took me on as a flying student was to help in the battle against Bellatrix Black and her Pureblood supremacism, one that, if enforced, would either enslave or slaughter me.

He was honest and straightforward, and unequivocally brilliant.

I was intellectually attracted to him.

Oh my Merlin, and his  _hands_.

I could write poetry about his hands, sonnets and alexandrines, songs, and whole novels, and they wouldn't even begin to capture how deft and kind and  _warm_  they are—or how grounding it is to be wrapped up in his hands, how blissfully at peace I am when they're tracing circles on my back, how absolutely ecstatic I am when they tuck a stray strand of hair behind my ear.

Blinking, I realized I was still in the middle of a Transfiguration lesson and McGonagall had just asked me a question.

James, who was sitting next to me on my left (even though I was  _definitely_  avoiding him), discreetly circled a phrase on his parchment.

"Trask's Theorem," I read aloud.

McGonagall nodded, and continued her lecture.

I reached over and squeezed his hand in thanks, ignoring the pleasant jolt of electricity the contact sent through me. James clearly felt it as well, for just as I was about to let go of his hand, he quickly flipped my hand over and interlaced our fingers.

I practically froze. My heart beat so quickly, and the balloon in my chest filled up so rapidly, and I was sure the blush on my face clashed terribly with my hair, but I was smiling and glowing and I didn't let go. I felt as though a million bolts of white-hot electricity were pulsating through our fingertips.

I didn't let go when class was over and we had to stay back a bit longer to pack up our things one-handed, and I didn't let go when we walked out the door towards the Great Hall for lunch, witnesses be damned.

We couldn't speak a word; nothing was more expressive than the way our thumbs circled each other: sweet, exciting, intimate, chaste, and  _warm_.

Just as we were about to exit the first-floor corridor, he pulled me into a secret passageway and closed the gap between us, his eyes as intense as they had been in Potions class. He was utterly magnetic. His eyes were flames and mine grew wings, fluttering towards him and inviting him in for a kiss.

The moment his lips brushed against mine, the balloon in my chest exploded into a hundred pixies that swept delightfully across every nerve ending in my body. His lips were soft, moving hesitantly against mine, his glasses cool against my cheek.

He was a magnificent kisser; it was all I could do to clasp onto his shoulders, a kaleidoscopic haze of pink obscuring my ability to do anything else. I should have pushed him away, I should have never let things get this far—but  _Merlin_ , I could practically hear the disco violins take off in a whirlwind of triumph as we kissed, marking the moment with  _should_  and  _must_  and  _is_.

As though sensing this himself, James smiled against me, clutching my waist and tangling a hand in my hair, until I kissed him back, the longing in my heart transforming abruptly into unabashed thrill. I was floating and grounded and reeling and steady all at once. It was completely overwhelming.

James pulled away first, breathing heavily, and rested his forehead against mine.

I reached up to press a fingertip to my lips in a daze, in complete disbelief of what had just occurred between us. And how much I liked it.

So much for avoiding him until I'd worked out how I felt.

He reached up and threaded both of our hands together, a warmth and a heady giddiness filling me up as though I were creating sunshine from within. My heart was racing.

"So, Evans," James said, swallowing thickly, his voice low. "Fancy a chat?"


	13. Kissing James Potter

Kissing James Potter seemed to have freed up a part of me that had forgotten how to breathe properly. He seemed to pull everything back into focus. I'd been preoccupied with Head duties, with proving Bellatrix wrong, with outsmarting her, and assembling an Actual Team of Actual People for the aforementioned purposes.

I'd been so busy that I hadn't noticed I was falling for the git that was currently standing in front of me, the look on his face so overwhelmingly joyous, it could have turned all the autumn leaves green again, could have banished the gloom that so often befell the Scottish moors surrounding Hogwarts—it might even have convinced Voldemort himself that happiness exists and he should end this war.

And he wanted a  _chat_.

There was no way I was ready for  _that_!

As wonderfully as his hands felt wrapped around mine, and as much as I enjoyed kissing him, and as peaceful and content as I felt, I just couldn't put it into words, and I didn't know how I felt, or what it meant that I liked kissing him—like,  _really_  liked kissing him—I wasn't ready.

At least, not yet.

So I did the only thing a girl in my position  _could_ do:

I blinked at him, and then ran, leaving a perfectly kissable boy down a secret passageway in a complete daze.

And I might have been able to manage a proper escape, except that James proved to be much cleverer than I'd given him credit for, and he caught me before I got to the end of the corridor.

"Lily, wait!"

He grasped my elbow lightly.

I didn't have to stop. I didn't have to turn around.

But he wasn't just some  _random_ , perfectly kissable boy that I'd just abandoned down a secret passageway. It was  _James_. And I couldn't ignore that note of pain in his voice.

I turned and faced him, but I couldn't think of what to say.

"Okay, I know that was"—a smile broke out over his face and I resisted the urge to roll my eyes—"sorry, er, I know that was—"

"Unexpected?" I blurted out. Then, every new thought came pouring out of me before I could stop it. "New? Different? Completely mad?"

James grimaced and shuffled his feet nervously.

I reached for his hand. "Wonderful?"

He grinned crookedly. "Yeah?"

"Yeah," I smiled back, shyly.

James peered down at our swinging hands, and glanced skeptically back at me. "Then why—?"

"Did I run away?"

"Yeah."

I nearly laughed. "I'm just—I mean,  _James_. I'm utterly flummoxed. I didn't realize—I would have  _never_  . . ." I searched the walls vaguely for some help. Finally, I said, "I didn't see this coming at all, did you?"

His hazel eyes laughed at me behind his glasses. "Nah, but that doesn't mean I didn't hope for it."

I shoved him playfully, fighting a smile. "Git."

He only stepped closer, smiling smugly like the big prat he was. "Sorry to break the news to you, Evans, but some people in this castle think this so-called git is  _wonderful_."

"Whoever said that was clearly cracked," I retorted, but I couldn't help the smile this time.

James leaned down so that our lips were mere inches apart. "Perhaps I should get a second opinion," he whispered.

"Perhaps you should." The balloon in my chest soared to new heights as I found myself kissing James Potter for the second time in an afternoon, and it was absolute elation, if confusing. But it was  _James_ , and he made everything okay. Not to mention, he was an  _excellent_  kisser.

* * *

I hadn't realized lips could swell up from so much kissing.

I also hadn't realized that the swelling on both mine and James's lips would be what would make everyone's eyes go wide when we arrived late in the Great Hall for lunch, immediately following a snog session that may or may not have lasted nearly the entire lunch hour.

Jen managed to shoot me a look that clearly said I had better fill her in on the details as soon as possible.

Marlene, was, of course, the first to say anything. "About bloody time!" she yelled out of sheer joy. She immediately got up and did her Donna Summer impersonation of "I Feel Love."

"Cheeky," I scolded her, but James burst out laughing when Sirius joined her, and the sentiment was lost. Not soon after, half of the Gryffindor table let out a rousing chorus of the Muggle disco queen's hit single of the year (James and myself included).

The glares from the Slytherin table were not lost on me, but James was singing in my ear, his arm secured around my waist, and for that moment,  _I didn't care_. I gave myself permission to enjoy myself, to enjoy this new thing with James, and let our mad mates do their best to embarrass us.

Mary discreetly pulled out a healing salve from her satchel and pointed silently to her lips.

"Ah, cheers," I said, applying a coat to my bruised lips.

"That's only going to encourage him, love," said Sirius, and he wriggled his eyebrows suggestively.

I smirked back at him. "Don't spoil all my fun, Black."

He whistled, impressed, and elbowed James in the side. "Prongs, if you fuck this up, you're an idiot."

James grinned and stared at Remus meaningfully, before meeting Sirius's gaze. "Likewise."

"I am so offended," Sirius deadpanned. "Boyfriend!" he called over to Remus. "I demand that you comfort me at once!"

Peter guffawed as Remus threw a dinner roll at his boyfriend's head.

Which was rather considerate of him, in some ways, as it took the attention off of James and me.

* * *

James walked me to Ancient Runes on the pretext that we needed to work out some kinks in the prefects' schedules immediately.

We'd finished that conversation at least two floors ago. Yet there we were, standing silently outside of the classroom, shuffling about like two shuffling things, and smiling nervously at each other.

"Alright, I'm just going to be honest," James started. "I don't really know what the protocol is here."

I breathed a sigh of relief. "Me, neither!" I laughed nervously.

The other students in our year shot us curious looks as they walked into N.E.W.T.-level Ancient Runes.

James's eyes followed a group of girls into the classroom before he set his gaze on me. "I mean, this is—it's new, isn't it? And I—er, I don't want to do anything you wouldn't feel comfortable with me doing, or do anything out of place—"

Merlin, who knew a nervous, babbling James Potter was the sexiest thing on the planet?

Laughing, I pushed him up against the wall playfully. "Kiss for luck?" I asked, and he just managed to grin before he brushed his lips softly against mine.

"I think that settles that," I said, breaking away. I reached into my bag and pulled out Mary's healing salve. "Think you'll be needing this," I said, and tucked it into his shirt's front pocket. I gave him a quick peck on the cheek and marched away. "I'll see you later."

"Yeah, later," he breathed.

Yes, kissing James Potter had definitely freed me up.

* * *

>   _Remus agreed to take notes for us because you and I have VERY important business to discuss, Lily Evans!_

Of course, Jen  _would_  be sure we'd still get lecture notes if she had to pass notes in class. I got out my quill and inkwell and replied,  _For example?_

> _For EXAMPLE: 1) WHY WERE YOU KISSING JAMES POTTER? 2) HOW LONG WERE YOU KISSING JAMES POTTER? 3) WHAT WERE THE EVENTS LEADING UP TO AND SURROUNDING YOU KISSING JAMES POTTER? AND 4) WHAT WAS IT LIKE TO KISS THE BOY YOU'VE HATED FOR SO LONG?_

Crikey.

I paused for a moment, and Jen managed to scribble one last thing beneath her interrogations.

> _As your best chum, I think I deserve to know_.

I groaned internally. She was right, of course.

I stared at her first question. I felt as though this note-passing had quickly turned into an essay prompt. I decided to answer with as little details about my feelings as possible.

>   1. _I was kissing James Potter because I wanted to kiss him._
>   2. _We kissed from the moment Transfiguration was over until we got to the Great Hall. You do the maths._
>   3. _He'd held my hand during Transfiguration and this really amazing tension just started building and building until the only thing we could do was snog it out._
>   4. _I only regret that we didn't kiss sooner._
> 


She read my list and frowned. 

> _So, he didn't ask you out?_

No, he hadn't. I replied as much and her frown deepened.  

> _So you're not dating or officially together or anything?_

I shook my head at her.

Her quill scratched furiously on parchment.

> _So all you've done is just kiss all day? Have you even talked about what you're doing? Do you even like him? If Sirius finds out you're only in it for the boy's lips, he might actually murder you._

Ha! Sirius Black try and kill me!

I almost laughed, until I remembered the conversation we'd had a few days ago where he'd sat me down and warned me about breaking James's heart.

I wasn't going to break James's heart!

At least, not on purpose. I mean, I could have walked away from him earlier. I could have just left him there, gaping like a grindylow, but I faced him. I was honest with him. He was honest with me. We were  _trying_  this thing out, working it all out one step at a time.

I mean, things had progressed very quickly in a short hour—it wasn't as though we'd drawn up a contract detailing the parameters of our relationship! I'd bet Jen would do that, though, what with all her Wizengamot-bound habits.

> _Whatever it is that we're doing, Jen, it's very new. For both of us. James knows so, as well. And he's willing to take things at my speed. And I'm pretty sure I like him, so no need to sic Sirius on me._

She scoffed, and had to fake a cough so that she wouldn't draw any attention from the professor.

> _Alright, what do you like about him so much that it's got you two snogging like you can't wait to jump each other the minute you're alone?_

I tried to recall what I'd told Sirius and Remus, but I think it was mostly gibberish with bits of English mixed in. I also tried recalling my mental list from Transfiguration, but came up a little short.

All I could remember was my conversation with James in the pumpkin patch, and the way he'd helped me live out the biggest lie I'd ever told on a broomstick, and the way his hands steadied me, his eyes laughed at me, his kisses intoxicated me.

Finally, I wrote,  _He makes everything okay_.

Jen's eyebrows shot up.

She jotted something down and  ** _passed the parchment to Remus!_**

Remus passed his lecture notes back to her and they simply traded off jobs, with Jen tuning into the lecture and taking notes as though she weren't mid-conversation with me—a conversation she had, incidentally, passed on to someone else without my permission!

Remus appeared more tired than usual, slumping in his seat over his desk as he read over the gossip-ridden parchment. He smiled over it, wrote something down, and exchanged it for his notes.

Jen glanced over it, rolled her eyes, and passed it back to me.

Under "He makes everything okay," Jen had asked, "Not better?"

Remus had circled "I only regret that we hadn't kissed sooner," and under Jen's question, he'd written just one word.

> _Exactly._

That perplexed me more than anything.

"Exactly," what, Remus?

"Exactly, he makes everything okay"?

Or, "exactly," as in he agreed with everything in general?

What did he mean by "exactly"? 

> _What's that supposed to mean?_

Jen rolled her eyes again.

> _It means you're an idiot, Lily Evans._

I shot her a narrowed glance.

_Care to elaborate?_

She sighed, which she quickly turned into a yawn.

I honestly don't know if a yawn is better than a sigh, but either way, the professor didn't look twice at her.

> _Alright, don't be cross with me. And not to put any pressure on this thing that you've just started with James, but, Lily, he's fancied you for a really long time. And not just as a prank or to embarrass you or anything—he's cared about you and done things for you that you don't even know about. So I'm glad that you've finally gotten to know him and realized what we've all known for a long time: he will always try to make everything okay for you. And if that's how you feel about him, you might want to tell him. I think he'd appreciate it._

The stupid balloon in my chest dropped into my stomach and took up even more space than I thought was possible as it bloomed.

I was so surprised.

Jen had known this about James? That he'd  _really_  fancied me for so long? And she let me go on and on about how I hated the way he tried to tease me with all those dating proposals and self-indulgent come-ons? She let me abuse his good name with all my bad impressions of him?

I was puzzled. I hadn't  _always_  been wrong about James, I decided. He  _had_  bullied Severus unnecessarily for  _years_ —although, apparently it had been in retaliation for Severus's many hexes.

Okay, so he wasn't a complete prat. But he didn't have to retaliate at all!

I thought of myself and Bellatrix. Competing on rivalling Hippogriff teams in order to avoid direct dueling didn't seem any better.

Right. Well, what about his obnoxious, Quidditch-inflated ego? I remember thinking he didn't need a broom to fly; his head was full of enough air to keep him airborne.

Then I thought of how quickly  _I_ had fallen prey to my own Wronski Warrior celebrity, and had even used it to recruit the Prewett twins to my Hippogriff team. Thankfully, Jen had kept me in check, but I understood how easy it was to let yourself get lost in others' appreciation of your talents, deserved or not. 

> _I don't think I'm as good of a judge of character as I thought_ , I wrote.  _What if I'm also wrong about Bellatrix and she's actually really lovely?_

Jen looked at me as though I'd gone mad. 

> _You're not a bad judge of character, Lily_.  _You just challenge people to be the best versions of themselves, and some people can live up to it and others can't._

That was nice.

> _So—what's he done for me that I don't even know, anyway?_

Jen smiled.

> _That's his own story to tell_.

The Mystery of James Potter only seemed to get more and more complicated.

* * *

Caradoc Dearborn and Abed Cassimi were sharing a table in the library, doing homework. Across from them, Harriet Seabury and Gideon Prewett appeared to be doing  _anything_  but studying.

I took an empty seat between them all.

"Hullo!" called Fabian from behind me.

"Hey," I called back. "Did you all plan this?"

"Just happened," answered Gideon with a shrug.

Caradoc decided to give me the entire play-by-play, however. "Abed and Harriet were already in here when I walked in, and they invited me to sit with them, so I did. Then ten minutes later, the twins walked in, saw us, and tried to pull up another table, but got distracted and gave up. Later, Gideon was having trouble with his Transfiguration, so Harriet offered to help him and that's why she's over there. Then, Fabian went into the thirty-third aisle to find a book on the magical properties of common flowers." He called down the length of the table as Fabian reemerged from a nearby bookshelf, "Did you find your book, Fabian?"

Fabian lifted a tiny emerald book in reply.

"Ah, very good!" Caradoc looked at me. "And that's when you walked in."

He should be promoted to commentator, honestly.

"Thank you, Caradoc," I said.

He smiled widely. "Oh, Captain?"

"Yes?" I said, trying to shrug off the way he'd called me  _Captain_ , as though it were Very Official. I was his Captain! It thrilled me in a way that being Head Girl never had.

"I read the notice about our Ministry referee. They're due to meet all the teams on Thursday." His normally matter-of-fact expression became somewhat sheepish.

It dawned on me that I'd neglected something rather important in this whole Team Assembling Business.

I gasped. "And we haven't got a name! Or a uniform!"

Caradoc nodded. "Exactly, Captain."

He was starting to remind me a bit of Spock, the way Spock very carefully and reverently addressed Captain Kirk.

I couldn't say I minded it at all.

"Good thing we're all here. We can have a brainstorm!" chimed in Harriet.

We pushed all of our tables together, and I cast a Silencing Charm around us, in anticipation of the ruckus we'd inevitably cause.

"How about the Wronksi Warriors, after the Cap?" suggested Fabian.

Cap.

I could get used to that, too.

Gideon laughed. "Don't you think that's setting expectations a bit high, Fae?"

Fabian narrowed his eyes at his brother. "You try, then."

"I say we call ourselves something Muggle-friendly, so there are no questions about what we're trying to represent," said Abed.

Gideon turned to me with a frown. "Cap, didn't the Muggles go to the moon a few years ago?"

"They did," I answered, and I had a flashback to being nine years old, and watching on our neighbor's black and white telly as an American astronaut stepped out of a spacecraft and onto a grey-washed world. I'd never looked up at the moon the same way ever since.

"Muggles are obsessed with space travel," Caradoc said. "They imagined going to other galaxies before they managed to get a rocket off the planet!"

Harriet turned to him sharply. "You have to have vision before you accomplish anything, you know."

"Of course!" he answered, moving his bright orange glasses up his nose. "And their vision is extraordinary! Captain, do you have a telly-vision?"

I nodded.

"Then you've heard of  _Star Trek_  and  _Doctor Who_  and this really excellent film that's just premiered— _Star Wars_!" Caradoc was beside himself with excitement. "The Muggle imagination is absolutely fascinating!"

Fabian and Gideon Prewett had never looked so confused in their lives. Whatever sharpness had been in Harriet's eyes before softened as they observed how Caradoc's whole body bounced with delight.

"Star Warriors!" Fabian exclaimed suddenly, and everyone but Caradoc broke out into guffaws.

"I don't remember seeing that—is it a film?" Caradoc asked, fidgeting with his glasses once more.

"No, mate! Our team name." Fabian straightened up and looked off into the distance as he announced, "Star Warriors."

"Bit off the mark, no? You'd have to really know  _Star Wars_  to get it."

I smiled. "Caradoc, I can guarantee that every single Muggle in this castle—and then some, including yourself—has seen  _Star Wars_. But I worry Star Warriors makes us seem more like Vikings than Muggle Allies."

Fabian sighed. "Well, there's definitely something there."

"Han Sextet," blurted Abed, and the twins lost it.

Caradoc very kindly managed to explain that there was a character called Han Solo in the film, and since there were six of us, Abed amended his name to describe us as such.

"It's terrible," Gideon laughed, but he still smiled warmly at Abed.

"Hideous," agreed Fabian, and they laughed again.

Harriet punched Gideon slightly in the arm. "What were you going on about the moon for, anyway?"

Gideon grinned. "The Muggle contraptions that got them there. Spacecraft?"

Harriet nodded. "Most team names are named after a location, or something that flies—Chudley Cannons, Holyhead Harpies, Puddlemere United, you know? We could be—what? Merlin's Moonrovers?"

"Merlin's Moonrovers," repeated Fabian, trying it out.

"Sort of a mouthful," said Abed.

I shrugged. "It's not bad, though."

Gideon objected. "It isn't sexy enough!"

"And what sort of birds  _are_  sexy, Prewett?" teased Harriet, shoving his arm playfully.

"Falcons, obviously," Gideon replied seriously without missing a beat.

Abed tried again. "Merlin's Falcons?"

"Did you know the merlin _is_ a kind of falcon?" began Caradoc, but despite a roll of the eyes from Harriet, no one got a chance to answer him because it finally hit me.

I gasped and slammed my palm down on the table. "By Godric, I've got it!"

My team stared back at me expectantly.

Oh, Merlin, I hoped they'd like it.

I licked my lips. "The Millennium Falcons."

"YES!" agreed Harriet immediately. "That's perfect!"

Caradoc nodded thoughtfully. "That does seem to fit rather well."

"While it sounds rather nice, what exactly is a millennium falcon?" asked Fabian.

Abed answered, "Han Solo's spaceship. It's excellent."

Gideon and Fabian slammed their fists on their tables simultaneously and, in perfect unison, chorused, "Excellent!" Apparently, that was normal; they didn't even flinch.

"Muggle-friendly," started Gideon.

"And  _Star Wars_ -related," finished Fabian. "We need to see this film, Giddy!"

And that's how I became captain of The Millennium Falcons.

* * *

Later, in the common room, after several "Have you talked to James yet?" inquiries from Jen, James and I managed to seclude ourselves from our mates to have a proper chat at last. We sat on a long, goldenrod couch, sandwiched between a bookcase and a wardrobe.

I'd been going over some of Jen's concerns since that afternoon in Ancient Runes and I thought that if we were going to start anything, James and I had to be on the same page.

"James Potter," I began, and I almost lost my nerve at the slight upturn of the corners of his lips. "I obviously fancy you, but—"

"Oh, sweet Merlin, are you breaking up with him already?" called over a very nosy Sirius.

I glared at him and he immediately put his hands up in defense. I got out my wand threateningly, and in what some might have considered to be a hostile manner, cast a Silencing Charm around James and me.

I turned back to James, whose face seemed to express that he was utterly charmed by whatever hostilities I may or may not have just displayed in his best mate's direction.

When our eyes met, it was as though I saw myself through his own, and I was suddenly awash in effervescence.

"Where was I?" I said, trying to clear the sensation from my mind.

"You fancy me?" he teased, turning my hand over in his.

"Right!" I looked back at him and blushed. "I fancy you, and—wait, do you fancy me?"

I couldn't believe I had actually asked him that.

I, Lily Evans, had become the Romance Inquisition.

How mortifying.

But James just burst out laughing as though I'd just told him the best joke in all of wizarding history.

"You're mad, you know that?" he finally managed, once he'd calmed down enough to speak again. "Do I fancy you? Do hippogriffs fly? Do grindylows swim? Honestly, Lily, I don't even know how to function without fancying you. I always have."

I frowned. "I thought you were just taking the mickey out of me."

James ruffled his hair nervously with his free hand. "I was a bit thick about it before," he explained sheepishly. "I didn't know how to behave properly around you. I always felt like I had something to prove."

I giggled. "You proved to be a right little prat!"

James didn't say anything, dropping his gaze to our hands.

I feared I'd hit a sore spot.

"And I—I couldn't see past that. I suppose I never bothered to since you and Sev didn't exactly get along, either."

"About that," James said, suddenly serious. "There's something you should know."

"Yes, I already know; Remus told me."

He frowned. "He did?"

I nodded. "It explains a lot, actually," I said. I thought of what Remus had told me—that Sirius and James had been engaged in a year-long feud of retaliation with Severus. It wasn't one-sided or person-specific. It was ideological, on a grander scale, and it was personal, too.

"How much did he tell you?" James asked.

"He didn't go into much detail, but I totally understand," I said.

James leaned in towards me, conspiratorial, and whispered, "So you know about me and Sirius—?"

"Yes! Remus explained it all to me."

Why was he being so weird about this?

He looked so vulnerable as he gazed down at me and asked, "And you're okay with it?"

Merlin, this was getting strange.

Was I okay with James having been a bully?

Not exactly.

But he also hadn't  _exactly_  been only a bully in this equation. He was often the victim of Sev's hexes and Dark Arts curses, which according to Remus, had left him stranded down deserted corridors for hours.

Not to mention, he'd stood up for Sirius against his blood supremacist relatives.

"You did what you had to do, and you were there for your friend. It may not have been the wisest of decisions, but it  _is_  brave."

James looked as though he were about to kiss me right then and there in the middle of a busy evening in the Gryffindor common room, and as much as I wanted to let him kiss me, I didn't want to be the object of any more gossip, especially if Frank Longbottom and his traitorous camera were around.

So I leaned forward and kissed his hand.

Like some knight in a medieval romance novel.

Merlin, I was such a  _loser_.

However pathetic it might have been, it pinked James's cheeks significantly, and he smiled shyly at the floor.

Finally, he inquired, "And you're okay with Remus? You'll keep his secret?"

Perplexed, I cocked my head to the side.

Remus's secret?

That he was remarkably—if not eerily—observant?

"Of course," I shrugged.

And then, James actually  _did_  kiss me right then and there, and I can't say I did a good job of cutting it short or anything of the sort, because I was already sitting down and that kiss made me need to  _sit down_.

Have I mentioned that James Potter is an amazing kisser?

Why didn't I know this before?

Why had I deprived myself of this for so long?

No matter, his lips were on mine, and the Silencing Charm had at least delayed any attention our smooching noises would have gotten.

A pink haze clouded my thoughts and I let it push out the parts of my brain that were telling me we really should stop snogging and get to the important part of the conversation—the part where I asked him if we were dating or not.

People could see us!

But so far, no catcalls or whistles had pierced my kaleidoscopic kissing daze, so I let James shift me so that we were facing each other on the settee. My heart was thrumming a pleasant, excitable rhythm, and I could feel his heart beating through his robes as he pulled me against him.

I basked in the warmth of his kisses for so long that I didn't realize we had suddenly gone horizontal. The alarms went off in my head at that, and I broke away from him.

"Damn," he whispered gruffly. He had braced himself above me, and I was embarrassed to find my legs tented up around his hips.

I sheepishly let go of him and pulled myself out from underneath him. "This is  _exactly_  why we need to talk!" I exclaimed, righting my skirt, and glancing nervously at the other Gryffindors in the vicinity. No one seemed to have noticed us at all.

James didn't even have the decency to look ashamed at how heated things had just gotten.  ** _IN PUBLIC_** ** _._**

"Okay. What do we need to talk about?" he asked, fixing his glasses on the bridge of his nose, and looking thoroughly put out.

The boy had no shame whatsoever!

I raised an eyebrow at him, because I couldn't work out how to say, "What are we?" without feeling like a complete numpty.

So, James continued, "I mean, things are good on my end since you already know Moony's a werewolf, and about the incident with Snape and Sirius last year."

I was about to interrupt and tell him that things would be better on my end if we talked about the exact state of our relationship, but that particular disclosure had left me totally and completely speechless.

I gaped at him.

_Moony's a werewolf_.

All these little puzzle pieces in my head shifted just enough that everything made a little bit more and a little bit less sense simultaneously.

He caught my surprised expression and his eyes widened. "Oh,  _fuck_! Please tell me that's what you were talking about before!"

I shook my head slowly and unblinkingly, feeling like an empty-headed troll.

_Moony's a werewolf_.

James kneeled before me, and took my hands in his. "Lily, let me explain," he begged desperately. I locked my eyes on his and even though the revelation that Remus Lupin was a werewolf seemed too huge to fit in the space we'd created for ourselves in that corner of the common room, his eyes said  _safe_  and his hands said  _it's okay_.

I nodded. "Okay," I said. "Explain away."

So he did.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Tiny disclaimer: Apparently _A New Hope_ wasn't released in the UK until December 1977, but we'll just pretend it was a summer blockbuster hit for the sake of our newest Star Wars fans, Fabian and Gideon Prewett. :)


	14. You can try, Potter

James Potter is an animagus. And he once saved my ex-best friend from a werewolf. Who happens to be my classmate. Remus Lupin.

And now James and my ex-best friend have some weird truce. Apparently saving your enemy from certain danger is enough to break a feud. That explains why they'd been so cooperative during our games of Hippogriff. Perhaps Frank Longbottom hadn't been so far off to say it might be inter-House cooperation.

In any case, the conversation about our relationship had been put on hold while I processed all of James Potter's secrets—all of the Marauders' secrets.

His whole life, basically.

I glanced over at his mates, at Sirius, with his arm happily draped over Remus's shoulders, sitting on a couch near the fireplace, and Peter aggressively playing against himself in Wizard's Chess on the floor before them.

They had always been this close-knit group of friends, but I hadn't realized the extent to which they were bonded.

 _Moony's a werewolf_.

I recalled Severus attempting to invalidate a perfectly civil and otherwise innocent classmate with that accusation a few years ago. He'd been right, it turned out, but it didn't invalidate anything.

Remus laughed tiredly at something Sirius had said, the thin, white scars along his jaw tightening at the stretch of his cheeks. He was balancing an open Transfiguration textbook and an essay in his lap. One hand tucked a quill behind his ear, his shirtsleeves splattered with ink.

Peter, his small blue eyes reflecting in the firelight, gazed up at his friends and chucked a pawn in their direction. His laugh, though rendered silent by my charm work, was one made up of small bursts of chortles, often accompanied by a hand on his round stomach, and a rising crimson wave from his neck to his ears.

I watched as Sirius jumped down from the couch he shared with his boyfriend to frown quizzically at Peter's Wizard's Chess board. Remus visibly sighed, and leaned down to pick up the Transfiguration book that had flopped to the floor in Sirius's haste.

After a moment, Sirius barked some order at the ivory army and Peter only stopped laughing long enough to express supreme distress at this turn of events at his expense.

Satisfied, Sirius returned to the couch, and snuggled in much closer to Remus than he had been before. His eyes scanned the room and landed on James and me.

I waved at him, trying not to appear as though James had just spilled an entire ocean's contents of information at my feet.

Sirius grinned and nudged Remus to look at us. The young werewolf met my gaze, and the amount of sheer tenderness and empathy that filled my very being at the light in his eyes was almost overwhelming.

 _Moony's a werewolf_.

Remus Lupin may be a werewolf, but in that moment, I decided that more than anything, he was my friend.

And that kind of multiplicity was something that each of the Marauders understood, if not experienced for themselves.

It was certainly something I had always tried to figure out—Muggle, witch, neither, both.

We, neither of us, were any one thing.

James, who had been kneeling before me as he explained that he and Sirius had figured out Remus's secret in second year when the latter was inexplicably and unjustly excused from Astronomy classes, seemed to realize that my attention was elsewhere, and looked behind him.

Sirius and Remus were openly laughing at us now, completely oblivious to our conversation, and I wondered what they found so amusing.

James turned back to me and groaned. "Oh, they'll never let me live this down, the pricks."

He got up slowly and sat beside me on the couch, though with considerably much more distance than before.

"Hear the end of what?" I asked.

He ran a hand through his hair and rumpled it significantly. He turned his head away enough that I could  _just_  see the sticky-uppy bits at the back of his marvelous bedhead, and I unconsciously moved closer to him.

"Are we okay?" he asked, turning back, and jumping slightly at the fact that I had just closed in on the three feet he'd left between us. He smiled, apparently flattered.

I leaned into him. "Yes," I breathed. I grabbed his hand. "It's just—it's a lot. Thank you for telling me."

"Moony's gonna murder me," he moaned.

"I'm not telling anyone!" I exclaimed. "Even under pain of death."

James smiled, but he looked surprised. "I never doubted that. We—well, it's just—I know Moony wanted to tell you himself. And now I've gone and ruined it for him."

"Oh!" I said. I glanced back at Remus, who was deep in conversation with Sirius again. "He wanted to tell me?"

"Been dying to, actually," James replied. "Just couldn't quite find the right time. He felt awful lying to you the other day—about having to go see his sick mum and not being able to be on your Hippogriff team."

"Wait, his mum's not ill?"

James sighed. "I really should let him tell you everything."

"Okay," I said. Before he could protest, I got up and marched over to the other Marauders and placed a hand on my hip.

Remus and Sirius were engaged in a nonsensical debate about the implications of solar flare activity during the upcoming Quidditch World Cup.

"Lads," I announced myself. "We have some business to discuss."

They stared up at me, half-amused, half-unfazed.

I tried again. "It involves a problem," I said, meaningfully. "Of a furry variety."

Both their eyes widened, just as Peter yelled, "Checkmate!" to himself.

I flashed Remus a smile and held out my hand. He took it, and I pulled him along to where James sat, anxiously rumpling his hair.

"Your Silence Charm is in excellent condition, Lily," remarked Remus.

I could tell he was nervous as well. He sat on the couch between James and me, just as Sirius pushed a protesting Peter into the Silence Charm bubble.

"Whoa!" said Peter, finally quieting down as he experienced the shock of having all of Gryffindor Tower suddenly muted. "I've  _got_  to practice my Charms!"

"I've been telling you so since first year," muttered Sirius.

"If you study hard enough, you can take the N.E.W.T. at the end of the year, even if you didn't take the class," said James.

Sirius threw himself stomach-down onto a nearby cushion and giggled. "Just so Wormtail can add to his list of T's? Smashing idea."

Peter shot Sirius a glare, and crossed his arms.

"I can tutor you, if you'd like," I offered. "Charms is my favorite subject."

"I thought it was Potions!" accused Sirius, who had turned around completely, as though his whole body had been offended by my preference for Charms.

"No, that was always Sev's," I explained.

Sirius blanched. "But he's so  _bad_  at it!"

I laughed. "He isn't, not really."

Sirius rolled his eyes. "You need imagination to excel at Potions, and Snivellus has about as much creativity in him as my mum's got any empathy. And old Mummy dearest collects the heads of her house elves."

I grimaced. "That's horrible."

"Exactly."

I cleared my throat. "So—fun fact. James and I were just—"

"Snogging?" said Sirius, wriggling his eyebrows suggestively.

I blushed deeply. "Well—yes. But only because James thought I—er." I glanced at James, unable to explain.

"Bugger it," James mumbled. "Lily knows."

They all froze. It was suddenly quiet, as though my Silence Charm had permeated the space it was meant to shield from outside noise. Remus's amber eyes locked onto mine with such fervent intensity that I was nearly bowled over, but I recognized the frightened question shining in them: Do you accept me?

I felt as though I could see into his soul at that moment, and felt an unrelenting wave of pure unconditional love for the tired, scarred boy beside me. There was no question about it. I smiled.

"Moony," I said, turning the nickname over in my mind. "It makes sense."

"We thought so," said Sirius quietly. I turned to him, and realized he'd been the tensest of us all, ready to do anything, it seemed, if I freaked out over the fact that his boyfriend was a werewolf.

I smiled again at Remus. "Though not exactly subtle, is it?"

He laughed. "No, it isn't."

"Oi, we were only second years!" defended Sirius, looking extremely insulted.

"Yeah, we thought it was really clever," added Peter, smiling sheepishly.

I laughed, attempting to stay encouraging and cheerful. It was really critical that I didn't treat this secret like anything less than Absolutely and Totally Important. "It was! It's not as though anyone's really caught on."

"Well," started James. "Nearly anyone."

Sirius sighed. "So how much did you tell her, Prongs?" He was bouncing up and down anxiously. "How much does she know? Snivellus?"

"Yes," answered James.

"Our full moon escapades?"

"Mhm."

"The cloak, the map—?"

"No!" James said quickly. "No, I haven't told her about those things yet."

Sirius's eyes twinkled. "I see. Saving them up for a big reveal, eh?"

James blushed.

"What are you two going on about?" I asked, amused by James's reaction and Sirius's widening grin.

Peter began whistling some familiar tune in clear avoidance.

Remus knocked my shoulder playfully. "Marauders' Honor."

"Marauders' Honor!" the rest of the boys chorused, saluting at each other mock-solemnly.

I stared at them, wide-eyed. "I'm involved with a cultist."

They all laughed.

"Lily," Sirius began. "As leader of said cult—"

"Oi!"

"Who appointed you leader of anything?!"

Sirius smirked. "—I hereby bestow upon you an official welcome to the Marauders."

"Er, thank you?" I said.

"On a trial basis," he added. "We'll see about inducting you soon enough."

I glanced at James again to see if Sirius was Actually Serious, but James was chuckling and blushing like mad, so I just shrugged, compliant.

Sirius winked back.

"Right. Well. Lads," James announced, nodding at each of them.

Sirius seemed to take the hint rather quickly, pushing himself off the scarlet cushion pouf and pulling the main subject of this gathering to his feet. "C'mon, love. I've distracted you from your essay long enough."

Peter yawned and got to his feet. "Night, everyone. I'm knackered."

We all said our goodbyes and goodnights until it was just James and me again, with quite a distance between us on the couch again.

"Marlene snores," I blurted out.

"What?" he asked through a laugh.

"And Mary—Mary has terrible temper tantrums. She used to go on bimonthly rampages through our dorm, slashing at all of our curtains until we calmed her down."

He smiled amusedly.

"And sometimes Jen and I do each other's arithmancy problems."

He shook his head, a smile on his lips. "Lily, why—?"

"I just felt as though I needed to balance the scales a little bit."

His eyes laughed at me. "Ah. And what's your biggest secret, then?"

Er.

"Socks. I leave my socks everywhere. There are probably at least five pairs of worn socks stuffed under my blankets as we speak."

"Lily."

"Yes?"

"That's disgusting."

I wrinkled my nose. "I know."

He scooted closer to me on the sofa. "It's practically hazardous."

I scooted a little closer to him as well. "Practically," I answered.

James was close enough that I could see the flecks of green and gold in his eyes. "Perhaps I should go up and—fix it for you?"

I giggled. "You can try, Potter."

"You wouldn't stop me?"

"I wouldn't have to!" I laughed, imagining him going up the girls' staircase, only to watch him fall flat on his arse when they turned into a slide.

James grinned his aristocratic smile at me. "Fair point."

His hand gingerly grabbed mine and I nearly melted at his gentle touch.

Lily Evans, Girl Ice Lolly.

I couldn't tell if that was an upgrade from Girl Balloon or not.

"So about earlier," James whispered, his voice lowering to absurdly sexy levels. His hands toyed with mine, sending my heart racing.

I tried to answer as calmly as possible, even though his hands were currently driving me mad. "What about earlier?" I asked, my voice growing breathless.

He smirked, one hand going up to tuck a strand of loose hair behind my ear, and lingering over my cheek. His voice was velvety and low as he brought his lips next to my ear and whispered, "You said we had to talk?"

He kissed my neck and my world went totally hazy at the sensation. I almost said, "Sod it!" and gave into him, but I needed to know what we were doing.

With great effort, I pushed him away. "We do, James."

There were other things he'd obviously prefer to do instead, but he didn't complain, just pulled back and waited expectantly.

"We fancy each other, yes?" I began.

He smirked, amused. "Obviously."

"Right," I said, blushing. "Erm, well. We haven't exactly talked about, you know, you never asked if I wanted to—er…" I frowned, flustered.

How was I supposed to ask him why he hadn't asked me out?

Suddenly, I knew exactly what to do. I took both of his hands in mine and mustered up all of my courage. "James Potter, will you go out with me?"

James's laugh rang out between us, and his whole body shook with it. He gathered me up in his arms and pulled me against him, laughing in delight, then pulled back to look at me, his hazel eyes alight with joy. "We're already going out, you nutter."

I smacked his chest. "Prat."

"May I remind you that you fancy this prat?"

"I take it back, then. You have every right to call me a nutter."

He laughed again. "Is that all you wanted to ask me?"

"I just didn't know if we were going out, or just making out. Or what to call—this," I said, gesturing vaguely between us.

"Ah, then you're not a nutter at all," he said, smirking. "Just daft."

"Oi!" I exclaimed, smacking him again.

"Seriously, Lily. I'm mad about you. Much as I enjoy it when we snog, you mean so much more to me than that."

The balloon was back, except this time it felt like a flower garden had sprung to life in my heart, its fragrance intoxicating, and the blooms rapidly unfurling and blossoming across my insides.

"Likewise," I replied, squeezing his hands.

And then we may or may not have indulged in another one of those aforementioned snogs.

* * *

The Hippogriff practice schedule was outrageously difficult to manage. The Heads of House managed the Quidditch practices, and with only four teams, it was loads easier to share their pitch.

Our league, however, had eight teams, all of which were keen to practice twice a week at the very least. The new dimensions of the pitch would certainly require some adjusting on my part, so getting time on the pitch was of the utmost importance. And because it was a mixed-House league, no faculty at Hogwarts had any authority over the schedule. This responsibility was left up to the Ministry referee, who wouldn't meet the league members until the following Thursday.

So, in the meantime, the other team Captains and I had to figure out how to share the pitch for the next week. We met in a disused classroom after Friday night dinner to write up a practice schedule for the week.

With the addition of the other captains there, the tension between Bellatrix and me was not so noticeable. However, as we were exiting the room, who should appear but Frank Longbottom, his camera nearly blinding us with its magical flash.

"Frank Longbottom, reporter for  _The Hogwarts Post_ ," he exclaimed, sidling along Goleuddydd Hughes, the smallest of the Captains present (and therefore the most vulnerable-looking). "I'd like to write a feature on each team every week as we begin coverage on the League's season. Who are you, what's your team called, and how will you plan on winning the Hippogriff Cup?"

Goleuddydd, her grey eyes wide as she peered up at Frank, startled, no doubt, by the multitude of questions he had just rattled off, stammered, "Er—my—my name's Goleuddydd Hughes."

"Good Welsh name," Frank mumbled, writing quickly. "And what's your team called?"

"Rhiannon's Riders," Goleuddydd declared, drawing herself up to her full height.

Frank smirked in delight. "Ah, and true to form, a truly Welsh-inspired team name. I assume your strategy has something to do with flying very fast?"

Bellatrix rolled her eyes at that. "Amateur. Do your research!" she spat at him, turning on her heel and strolling down the corridor.

Frank cocked his head to the side, perplexed. "Conducting an interview  _is_  research," he said to no one in particular. He shrugged and fixed his attention back on Goleuddydd, his baby blue eyes bright and intense.

She smiled sheepishly back at him. "My cousins and my girlfriend are on the team," she started, encouragingly. "We're all as Welsh as anything, and wanted to represent that in the League. Playing Quidditch together is a bit difficult, as we're all in separate houses, but this league makes it so much easier to spend time in the air together."

Frank practically beamed, and fired off a few more follow-up questions.

I was just happy not to be in the Hippogriff spotlight for once. At least Goleuddydd's story will put inter-house cooperation on the map.

The captain of the Neckbreakers, Hannibal McCloud, however, wasn't so pleased at having escaped Frank's attention. He lurked in the corner, his envy seeping into the air like potion fumes. So instead of going on my wee little merry way  _away_  from Frank Longbottom, Journalist, like every nerve ending in my body was telling me to do with great fanfare, I approached the interview in progress to diffuse a potential situation.

I didn't know what sort of situation McCloud might concoct, but I could tell straight off it wouldn't be a good one.

"Pardon me, Longbottom," I interrupted. "I think you'll find you might run out of time if you only feature one team a week. It's possible half of us will be eliminated from the league in eight weeks' time, depending on the schedule our Ministry ref draws up. Perhaps you should do two teams a week until we know for certain? I'm sure Mr. McCloud would be more than happy to fill you in on his own team and strategy."

The skulking Ravenclaw pushed himself off the wall he'd been leaning on and sauntered right over. "Hannibal McCloud, nice to meet you!" he exclaimed, shoving his hand into Frank's.

Frank didn't miss a beat. "Likewise! Extraordinary!" He seemed absolutely beside himself at having two willing subjects. "Would you mind waiting a moment while I finish up with, er"—he looked down at his notes—"Goleuddydd? We've nearly finished."

McCloud, his blonde curls crowning his head in a magnificent heap, simply nodded as he meandered back to his corner of the corridor, looking much more pleased with himself.

I rolled my eyes and left the scene.

McCloud was so arrogant—why did I even bother standing up for him?

I tried to shrug it off as I walked down to the Owlery, anxious to send off the new practice schedule to the Millennium Falcons.

* * *

"Mary, it's three loops to the left and  _then_  a swish to top center," I instructed, reminding Mary for the fourth time that evening of the proper pattern for a Color Change Charm. We'd been at this for nearly two hours now, holed up in a study room in the library.

"I don't understand!" she exclaimed, throwing her arms up in exasperation. "I'm the only Seventh Year in all of Hogwarts history that can't cast a simple Color Change Charm!"

Marlene, who was sitting at the end of a long table and reading out of a magical theory book, chimed in. "Even Pettigrew can do it, and he's at the bottom of our class."

" _Marlene!_ " I scolded, shooting her a nasty glare. She merely shrugged in reply.

Mary groaned. "This is hopeless, Lily. I'm hopeless. Just tell Flitwick you gave it your best go, eh? I'll go pack my trunk. I don't deserve to be a student here anymore."

At this point, Jen slammed her own book down on the table and gave Mary a sharp look. "You could try a little harder, Mary. This isn't on Lily, and it's unfair of you to put that kind of burden on her."

Mary stared at her, trembling. She turned to me, worrying her lip. "I'm sorry, Lily. She's right. Shall I go again?"

I nodded. "It's alright, Mary. I know it can be frustrating work, but you've got to just pick up your wand and  _focus_. Try isolating the first three loops."

She pursed her lips and furrowed her brows in concentration. Her wand arm went up, looped three times to the left. She repeated this a few more times.

"Good, keep your wrist loose. You can do this, Mary. Now try the cross-up."

Her wand turned sharply up and center, and flicked downwards. "That's the easy bit, Lils. It's going from the last loop back up to center. I can't ever find center!"

"Right. You've got to keep your wrist perfectly straight. Loose, but straight. That way, once you've done the loops, you can go back up to center." I took my own wand in hand and demonstrated for her. "One, two, three—up!"

Mary watched me perform this movement a few more times before she copied my pattern exactly. Then, to both our surprise, she managed to cast a perfect Color Change Charm on the scarf before her, which went from scarlet and gold to a vivid periwinkle.

Giggling in delight at her success, she draped the scarf around my neck.

"I've done it!" she said. She waved her wand in the correct pattern and turned Marlene's cloud of curls a shocking pink shade and gave an uproarious laugh that would have got us kicked out of the library if I hadn't prepared a Silence Charm in the space beforehand.

Marlene glanced at the pink tendrils in her peripheral vision and grinned. "Wicked," she said.

I rolled my eyes.

Unfairly, Marlene really did look very good with pink hair. The shock of it and her nonchalant attitude suited each other well.

There was a knock at the door, and we all turned our heads toward it. I quickly snapped my eyes to my wristwatch, wondering if the library was closing already. The door opened from the outside, and in slipped a stormy-eyed James Potter.

"James?" I questioned, perplexed.

His hair was messier than usual, his glasses slightly askew, and he was dressed in his Quidditch kit. He held a rolled-up parchment in one hand and his broom in the other. James appeared as though he had literally dropped out of the Quidditch pitch and flown here on his broom.

He didn't even glance at me, his hazel eyes landing on Marlene. "McKinnon." James was in full Captain Mode, and it was electrifying.

Marlene took one look at him and it hit her. "Bollocks! Have I missed practice?" She scrambled out of her seat, her ink spilling over the long, wooden table in a crawling streak. "Damn," she muttered, Vanishing the ink with a quick wave of her wand.

"Got it in one," James reproached. "Get to the pitch, McKinnon, and give me fifty sit-ups on the green."

"Yes, Captain!" She saluted him as unironically as ever, but didn't dare complain. James could have given her worse, like suspending her from playing the next game.

She stuffed her books and quills and sheaves of parchment into her bag and ran out of the room without a second glance, her pink curls bouncing around her shoulders.

Finally, James looked at me, his gaze softening, a small turn at the corner of his lips. "Evans," he said, attempting to sound professional. "In future, please mind the Quidditch practices when you schedule my players for a tutoring session. This way I can avoid rounding them up like a bloody shepherd."

I sucked in my cheeks, trying not to laugh. "Alternatively," I walked up to him and straightened his glasses. "Please mind the tutoring sessions when you schedule my students for Quidditch practice."

"Touché," he said, and he bent down to give me a light peck on the lips. "We'll sort it out later. I've got to go count McKinnon's push-ups."

I laughed, and he grinned, his hand going up to mess up his hair. His Quidditch kit allowed a wonderful view of his flexing arm muscles and I had to bite my lip to keep from whistling.

"Later, Potter," I said, pushing him out of the room. "I've got work to do!"

I turned back to Mary and Jen, a silly, giddy grin on my lips.

"Holy shit," Mary exclaimed.

Jen appeared absolutely dumbstruck.

"What?" I asked, blushing. Did they think I was dating a controlling, authoritative meat head?

"There is so much sexual tension between you two, I thought he was going to take you right here on this table!" Mary said, her hands fanning herself.

I rolled my eyes. "Shut  _up_ , Mary."

Jen blinked and took in a long breath of air. "She's not wrong, Lily."

I frowned at them. "Well, it's a good thing we're dating, then."

"WHAT?!" they exclaimed in unison.

"Since when?" said Jen.

"When did he ask you out?" inquired Mary.

Oh, right. Somewhere between all the Hippogriff meetings and the  _Moony's a werewolf_  madness, I'd forgotten to tell them about James and me.

I glanced quickly at my wristwatch. We were a little ahead of schedule, now that Marlene was gone. May as well indulge in some personal updates…

I settled myself in Marlene's unoccupied chair at the head of the table and answered, "Well, I asked him, but apparently, we were already going out before then, so it's difficult to say when we started."

"Probably when you snogged last week after Transfiguration," Jen stated in such a matter-of-fact tone that I gaped.

"Yes, definitely then," Mary agreed. "But you asked him? How very modern of you, Lily. I could never!"

"That's because the only boy you've ever fancied already has a boyfriend himself," Jen teased.

Mary threw her face in her hands. "Oh! Don't remind me!"

"I think they're sweet," I mused.

"So sweet it hurts," muttered Mary from beneath her fingers. She popped up again, a wide smile on her face. "But enough about me." She leaned in, a devilish look in her yes. "Is he a good kisser?"

I blushed so profusely that I could feel the heat coming off my entire person. "Better," I heard myself say, and Jen and Mary squealed and laughed so hard that I nearly forgot we were revising for a Charms practical the next day. "I'll give you more details if you get through the next three spells on the list, Mary."

"Deal!"

* * *

The next morning as I entered the Great Hall, I felt the usual attention from Frank's diverse audience stare after me, only this time, it didn't feel like admiration or respect.

I took a seat at the far side of Gryffindor table, my back to the rest of the Houses, and piled some breakfast sausage on my plate.

Someone patted me on the shoulder. I turned around, only to have a copy of  _The Hogwarts Post_  shoved in my face. "What is this?" asked a gruff voice.

I looked up to see the angry face of Hannibal McCloud glaring down at me.

I registered too late that the Hall had gone considerably quiet.

"I was going to ask you the same question," I answered tightly, getting up from the bench to level McCloud with a stern look.

He pushed the zine back in my face and shook it. "Read it."

I snatched the paper from his infuriating hands, and my eyes practically bulged out of their sockets at the headline for the week: 

> _WRONSKI WARRIOR PREDICTS FAILURE FOR MCCLOUD & OTHERS IN HIPPOGRIFF LEAGUE_

"That's absolute codswallop!" I exclaimed. I looked up at McCloud's narrowed eyes. "Oh, c'mon, McCloud. You were there! All I said to Frank was that he should feature all of us as quickly as possible in case half of us are out of the league. That's why you got an interview!"

"Then how come there isn't a single mention of that interview in here at all? It's all about you and your bloody  _celebrity_."

I blinked. "I haven't got any celebrity."

He didn't back down. "You can't stand the idea of anyone else taking the spotlight, can you,  _Wronski Warrior_?"

"McCloud, this is ridiculous. This whole article is based on  _nothing_ —"

He bared down on me, his stature overwhelming but not intimidating as he glowered, "You'd better watch yourself, you Wronski _warthog_ —"

"And  _you'd_  better watch your tongue, McCloud!" I said rather loudly, attracting the attention of those nearby.

"Lily, is there a problem here?" interrupted James.

I whirled in on his voice, my whole body turning to face him, gratitude flowing into my every molecule at his intervention.

"McCloud and I are having a little disagreement over the  _Post_ 's most recent dive into yellow journalism," I replied. Then I turned back to McCloud, who seemed to have realized what he'd said. "Five points from Ravenclaw. For threatening a student."

"Threatening a student? McCloud, care to elaborate?" asked James.

McCloud straightened up, and stepped back, blinking. "I—I'm sure I don't know what came over me."

James's jaw clenched. "Perhaps you'd care to explain to your head of house instead?" he said, taking him by the elbow and away from me. He shot me a wink over his shoulder.

I sat down again, and stared at the uneaten sausages on my plate, my appetite suddenly missing in action. I brought up the  _Post_  to my eyes and scanned the article, feeling more and more infuriated by the outright lies that it wove across the page.

"Must be nice," piped up a voice beside me. It was Mary.

"What's nice?" I asked.

She took a bite of toast and jam and smacked her lips. "Having a boyfriend defend your honor like that."

I rolled my eyes. "He isn't  _defending my honor_ , he's—" I stopped, at a loss for words.

What was James doing, touting McCloud around the Great Hall in circles like they were two Edwardian gentlemen going on a turn about the room, admiring the architecture and exchanging simple pleasantries about the weather and the like?

Had he just fought my battle for me?

Had I just let him?

Was I okay with that?

Mary smiled up at me and took another bite of her toast. "He's definitely defending your honor. And you like it."

I wasn't entirely sure that I did.

Jen interrupted this train of thought, however, with a vicious smack as she dropped an armful of papers on the table. "I got every copy I could find," she said. "But there's no guarantee Rookwood won't make more. We can't technically sue for libel, but we can get him re-assigned from editor to something less powerful."

"What are you on about?" asked Mary, taking a sip of pumpkin juice.

Jen sat with a heavy sigh, and merely shoved a copy of  _The Hogwarts Post_  in Mary's direction.

Annoyed, Mary half-heartedly read the headline aloud before gasping and reading the article in full, her mouth agape and her eyes wide. Finally, she looked up at me and said, "Lily, you're  _awful_!"

"It's not true, you dimwit," said Sirius Black, as he plopped down in front of us, another armful ofthe  _Post_  landing on the table with a loud thud. "Anyone who knows the bird beneath the wings can tell you that." It almost sounded like a compliment.

"Right," said Mary. "It just—it sounds so convincing."

"Precisely!" wheezed Peter, his head barely visible behind a pile of papers.

"Sweet Merlin! Just how many copies are there?" I asked.

Peter stuck his head out from his pile. "Oh no, this is my backlog of Charms homework. I'm trying to transfer into N.E.W.T.-level Charms."

"Ah,  _bonne chance_ , mate," said Sirius sarcastically, earning him a smack on the arm.

"Lily," whispered James from behind me, his hand squeezing my shoulder gently. I shivered as he ran his hand along the back of my neck and to my other shoulder and took a seat next to me. He wrapped his arm around my waist and pulled me into his side. The contact left me giddy and warm.

"Yes, James?"

"Sorry about McCloud. I know you like to deal with those things on your own," he said, dropping a kiss onto my cheek.

I smiled at him, and reached up to caress his jaw. "I do, but I'll let it slide this  _one_  time."

His eyes laughed at me behind his glasses, and I felt my heart skip a beat. The garden in my chest had attracted fairy-employed dirigibles that floated up and warmed my insides.

Sirius cleared his throat. "Oi, get a room."

I blushed, breaking eye contact with James, and he sheepishly let go of my waist, focusing instead on making himself a plate of breakfast. He was halfway through buttering a slice of toast when his eyes caught onto the stacks of the  _Post_.

"What are those?" he asked, reaching for one and flipping it open one-handed. His eyes scanned the headline and the article before they narrowed. "I'll kill him," he declared, throwing the paper down violently, and searching the Hall for the object of his rage.

I grasped his forearm gingerly, trying to calm him down. "James, no—you can't fight my battles for me, remember?"

"Alright, we'll kill him together—where is he?"

And that's when the head of a very haggard and stubble-faced Frank Longbottom became encased in a shockingly large pumpkin as the very unfortunate recipient of James Potter's infamous Melifors Jinx.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sometimes James can be really mature. And others... well. Also, for anyone who hasn't heard this amazing name before, I believe Goleuddydd is pronounced like this: "go-lay-ooh-THITH," with a voiced "th," as in "the" and "that," NOT "thought" or "thank." Let me know if you know better!


	15. Ground Rules

"I could have done much worse," James began, attempting to defend himself.

I stared at him incredulously. "Is that supposed to make any of this better?"

"No," he admitted quietly, shuffling the toe of his shoe sheepishly across the flagstones. "I've really bungled this, haven't I?"

"I had to take House points, James."

"I know."

I wrung my hands, pacing across the seventh-floor corridor anxiously. "I had to assign you— _Head Boy!—_ detention!"

James shrugged, and looked as though he were trying to hide a smirk. "Not my first one, though, is it?"

"Ugh!" I shrieked, irritated at his blasé attitude. He only seemed apologetic for stressing me out, and not for actually trapping Frank Longbottom's head inside a pumpkin. "It  _will_  be your first detention as Head Boy! You're supposed to be setting an example!"

"Yeah, Minnie sort of covered that in her forty-minute long lecture, in case you missed it," he grumbled, his voice rough and annoyed.

We had just briefed our Head of House on the situation that resulted in our beloved Head Boy jinxing a fellow student, unprovoked. She'd been more than unimpressed, to say the least.

"James," I pleaded. "You can't jinx students, no matter how much they annoy you."

" _You_  annoy me," he retorted. "But I'm not jinxing you. I didn't jinx Frank because he  _annoyed_  me, Lily, as though he were whistling too loudly or something ridiculous like that!"

"No, you jinxed him because you thought you had some duty to  _defend my honor_ , just moments after you apologized for behaving that way with McCloud!"

"That was  _completely_  different!" he bellowed. "I didn't jinx McCloud, either; I just had a chat with him. McCloud was annoying, but  _Longbottom_. He's a spineless coward with no sense of integrity at all! How are you not seeing this, Lily? Didn't you read his article?"

"That's irrelevant, James," I said sharply. "Regardless of his offenses against me, you have no excuse to be so reckless!"

"What do you want from me?" he asked, his eyes ablaze and sparkling behind his glasses. "You want me not to care and not do anything when some dipshit with a quill attacks the people I love?" His eyes widened slightly as he realized what he'd just said, but he refused to back down, refused to take it back, refused to contradict it.

I am a people he loves?

_**LOVES?** _

He  _loves_  me?

We'd hardly been dating for more than a fortnight and he  _loves_  me?

My heart was pounding as I stared at him, his lips pressed into a firm, determined line, his fists clenched tightly by his sides, his hair sticky-uppy in all sorts of places, lending James an air of beauty and madness all at once.

I fell back against the wall behind me, my palms pressed against the hard, cool walls of stone.

My boyfriend just said he loved me.

While we were arguing.

Not the best of times to let it slip, certainly. Not to mention, love was a really big word. I mean, it hadn't been an outright confession—perhaps I was making a dragon out of a diricawl and he'd just meant the general sort of love one feels for all the people in one's life. Like Sirius, Remus, and Peter, and the way he went to war for all of them. But I felt myself push back against that concession because on some level—some tiny, hopeful, mad level—I  _wanted_  James Potter to love me.

I didn't know what  _I_  was feeling, except this strange sense of ease and happiness and confusion—and, maybe— _definitely_ , I heard my inner voice say—someday I could love this maddening boy with the mad hair, too. And I really, really wanted that.

I was dizzy with the implications of his speech, and took in a steadying breath before answering. "It's not about what I want, James. It's about you believing this sort of reaction is appropriate. It's not. I appreciate that you feel you have to come to my defense, but as Head Boy—"

"Shit, Lily, I'm your  _boyfriend_ , alright? Forgive me if I think that's a much more important title than being bloody Head Boy. So yes, maybe as Head Boy, I fucked up. I can admit that. I was furious for you and the only thing I could do in that moment was react." He walked towards me slowly, until he was just a few inches away. "But as your boyfriend," he qualified, wrapping his arms around my waist, "I feel I was well within my rights to put Longbottom's head inside a pumpkin."

James was smirking a little, his eyes smoldering, and I had to resist returning a smile.

"Well, as my  _boyfriend_ , you should know that if I need your help, I'll ask."

James pressed his forehead against mine. "Yes, and as my  _girlfriend_ , you should know that I'm impulsive and impatient, and sometimes a little stubborn."

This time, I did return his smile. "Sometimes?"

His glasses were cool against my cheek as he pressed his lips against mine in an apologetic kiss. "Mhm," he hummed in reply.

I pulled away, trying really hard not to smile because  _Merlin_  was he a damned good kisser, and it was really hard to keep arguing with him over something as harmless as a Melifors Jinx.

"You know, you can't win every argument we have by saying you love me," I murmured.

James pulled back, attempting to appear confused. "Did I  _say_  that?"

I rolled my eyes, and fixed him with an incredulous look.

"You must have been hearing things," he continued, trying to pretend as though he hadn't accidentally declared his love for me. The flush of his cheeks, however, told a different story.

I reached up to cup his cheek. "Don't do that. You can be honest."

"Well, honestly, Lily," he started, and he drew in a large breath, pausing for a long moment, "Frank Longbottom is a pillock and he can eat pumpkins through his nose for the rest of his life, as far as I'm concerned."

I laughed. "You're incorrigible."

"You love me anyway," he said cockily, and I realized it was his roundabout way of asking me if I was okay with what he  _refused_  to talk about, so I humored him.

I surveyed him coquettishly. "Maybe," was all I said, before bursting into peals of laughter at his stunned expression. I grabbed his hand—I could do that now! I could hold his hand whenever I wanted!—and he immediately interlaced our fingers. "C'mon, Potter. We'll be late for lessons."

"Wouldn't want to set a bad example," he muttered, but he was blushing pleasantly, and he let me pull him along the corridor.

* * *

In Potions, Abed and Harriet raised concerns over the article published in  _The Hogwarts Post_  that morning while we all waited for our Anti-Paralysis Potions to simmer down.

"I didn't want to believe it, Cap. It sounded like rubbish to me," Harriet said.

Abed nodded along, his large, beautiful eyes sweeping over his housemates on the other side of the room. "I even heard Black say it was a load of crock."

"And she doesn't even  _like_  you," Harriet added.

I grinned. "Worked that much out for myself, thanks."

I tried my best not to think about it, but the offending article had been a speculative profile on my captainship, how I might spy on other teams during practice because I was Head Girl, or even restrict their practices, and how I would use my influence to get ahead in the league. It painted me as some sort of cocky, conniving, and cutthroat player who had implied Hannibal McCloud and Goleuddydd Hughes would fail in the league before the quarter final.

And the direct quote that was crammed into the damnable thing was taken completely out of context.

> _"Half of us will be eliminated in eight weeks' time," the Wronksi Warrior threatened. She urged this reporter to interview Hannibal McCloud before his team got cut from the league._

I mean, honestly.

Lily Evans, Mean Girl? Pah!

I was glad that my teammates, at the very least, were able to see the article for what it was: inflammatory sensationalism. Rubbish. A load of crock.

"Oh, bugger!" cried Marlene, and just as she threw in a handful of dried hibiscus petals into her cauldron, it blew up in her face in a fiery green cloud of smoke, singeing her fringe and eyebrows.

She stood there blinking, her fringe smoking, for several moments before Professor Slughorn declared, "Alright! Off to the Hospital Wing with you, Ms. McKinnon! And a point from your house for swearing!"

* * *

Marlene got her eyebrows back, only Madame Pomfrey spelled them pink to match her hair, and now she looked a bit like she'd gotten rouge on her forehead.

"If Donna Summer married a clown, I reckon their baby would look just like you, Mar," quipped Sirius, leaning over the long table of the Charms classroom. "Absolutely shocking."

She raised one perfectly pink eyebrow and merely whirled her wand in his direction. She'd spelled his hair to turn a shade of electric violet.

Nonplussed, Sirius ran a hand through his head and said, "Blimey, I think I got even sexier!"

Remus, amused at his boyfriend's confidence, put a wand to his head and spelled his own head of hair a demurer hue of baby blue. Sirius took one look at Remus and attacked him with a fierce kiss. They continued to snog when Professor Flitwick climbed atop the stack of books at the front of the room and called the class to attention, forcing James to separate them, which earned him a fully silver coiffure.

This should have made James appear old and unattractive, but he was just so much more appealing and magical looking. His hand went up to ruffle his newly silvered hair; its brightness provided such a stark contrast against his bronze skin that he looked as though he might have stepped out of some sort of myth or legend.

I couldn't keep my eyes off of his newly silvered sticky-uppy hair or pay attention to Flitwick, and felt the sudden urge to attack him in much the same manner Sirius had attacked Remus. Instead, I settled for the inconvenient yet inconspicuous hand-holding under the table that hindered my ability to take notes, but allowed me to freely convey how I was feeling about my boyfriend's immortal, god-like locks.

James didn't seem to mind it so much, glancing sideways at me with a bemused expression pulling at the corners of his lips.

Our exam that day was in two parts. Flitwick was testing us on our general knowledge of our Charms repertoire. He went around the room, calling on each student one at a time with the name of a random spell. First, we had to give a brief summary of the magical theory and function of the Charm, mention any significant details about its influence on wizarding society, its historical context, the process of its invention, et cetera, et cetera. Then, we had to actually perform the blasted Charm in front of our peers.

And of course, because Flitwick was erudite and straightforward, he gave us our marks out loud for all to hear.

It could be quite the anxiety-inducing situation. Mary was shifting so much in her seat that when Flitwick called her name, she sprouted up out of her chair too quickly and tripped back into her seat.

"Ms. Macdonald, if you please," Flitwick said, his large ears flattening back against his head in disapproval. "Perhaps a Cushioning Charm would be of particular advantage."

Mary rose solemnly from her seat and cast a quick glance in my direction. I attempted to appear encouraging. We had just gone over this charm the night before. She knew this. I knew she knew this.

"The Cushioning Charm, Sir," she began, her voice trembling, "softens its target when cast, unseen. It is invisible for aesthetic reasons, though some historians suggest concealment was necessary to preserve the precedent laws and regulations that eventually led to the International Statute of Secrecy. Today, Cushioning Charms are most notably used on broomsticks, providing both comfort and function to wizarding transportation and recreation."

Professor Flitwick nodded in approval, tottering a bit atop a stack of books at the front of the room. "Certainly different broom distributors have unique variations on the standard Cushion Charm."

Oh no! It was a trick question. My eyes widened slightly, and I hoped Mary would be able to respond correctly.

Mary clasped her hands and fidgeted nervously. "Industrial Cushion Charms are not in any way unique from each other, but are complemented with a Target-Detection Charm so that at whatever location a rider chooses to sit on the broom, the Cushion Charm detects the rider and moves with them during flight."

"Excellent, Ms. Macdonald," Professor Flitwick remarked, his large ears flapping pleasantly. "Proceed with a demonstration, if you please."

Mary pulled her wand out of her robes' pocket slowly, then scratched her nose. "Sorry, Professor—would you like a Standard or Industrial Cushion Charm?"

Professor Flitwick's ears flapped wondrously against his head. "Well, good heavens, Ms. Macdonald! If you can cast an Industrial Cushion Charm, then by all means!"

Mary swallowed thickly.

We'd gone over both, if a little brusquely, and I wondered why she had even offered to cast the Industrial Charm at all, considering this exam was worth 15% of our final marks. And. It was worth my abilities as Head Girl and Charms tutor. So, no pressure, right?

 _Focus_ , I willed her telepathically.  _Focus. You can do this!_

I held my breath as I watched Mary's wand pattern with a hyper-critical eye. I felt James's fingers wriggle in mine, and I quickly let go, realizing I had been squeezing his hand in a vice grip. I vaguely registered James patting my arm in support as my focus went back to Mary while she cast an Industrial Cushion Charm ahead of her.

I furrowed my brows, wondering about what she'd chosen as her target, when suddenly, Professor Flitwick bounced atop his stack of books, his ears flapping about wildly.

"Oh ho!" he exclaimed excitedly. He quickly climbed down from his makeshift podium and turned over the top book in the stack, and patted it at a distance of a few inches from the surface. His short, wrinkly fingers appeared to sink into something soft with some give, and his ears flapped in delight. "You've done it, Ms. Macdonald! Well done! Full marks!" He shot me a particularly pointy-toothed smile and added, "Ten points to Gryffindor!"

I was beaming. Mary only looked relieved, raking her still trembling hands through her blonde, feathered hair, and returning to her seat to recover.

"Thank Merlin," I muttered.

Professor Flitwick continued to go around the room, with fairly positive results all around. Marlene, ironically, had to cast a Color Changing Charm, choosing to spell Jen's hair a peach color, which looked quite good against her tawny skin.

Mysteriously, every single student in Professor Flitwick's N.E.W.T.-level Charms class had their hair charmed into a different color by the end of the lesson. When Peter met us in the Entrance Hall before our excursion to the lake for a break, he gave us all a flat look before silently putting his wand to his head and charming his hair a canary yellow.

"Spare me the details," he muttered, and Sirius cracked up, calling after him about how he was such a pal. Peter merely walked even faster toward the entrance doors, and flashed Sirius a rude hand gesture behind his back, earning a collective laugh from the lot of us as we followed him out.

* * *

The autumn air was crisp and cool against our faces. I pulled my scarf around my nose and mouth to keep from catching cold. I was particularly sensitive to colds. James and I lingered behind our friends, who had bounded away to the lakeshore in a gallop of laughter.

One look at me, however, and James burst out laughing as well. "Are you a witch or not?" he asked, wordlessly casting a Warming Charm over my person. "Er—only joking," he quickly amended, apparently catching the darker implications of his joke too late.

Wrapped in a sudden cozy warmth, I pulled the scarf away from my face and stuck my tongue out at him. "Your girlfriend is a Muggle-born, James, but she  _is_  in fact, a witch."

He pulled me into his side, leeching me for warmth. "Ah, well that's sorted."

He'd said it with a laugh in his voice, and I knew it was now or never. If I didn't bring it up now at the beginning of our relationship, it would become a point of weakness later on. It was important he understood.

I pulled him behind a looming henge, away from the path to the lake, and out of the sight of our friends.

"Lily?" asked James, searching my eyes nervously.

I took in a deep breath and took his hands in mine. "James, look. If we're going to make this work, we have to get one thing straight, alright? You're a wizard and I'm a Muggle-born. You can pretend it doesn't mean anything to you, but it's a very real fact, a very real difference between my frame of reference and yours, and  _it matters_."

"Okay," he said, staring at me intently, brows furrowed. He gently played with my hands, rubbing circles into my palms and driving me slightly mad. "I get it. I guess I just want you to know that despite the differences in our backgrounds, I still care about you. Or—actually, not 'despite' our differences, but in light of them…" James trailed off and ran his free hand through his hair anxiously. "Oh, bugger. Have I bungled this up as well?"

He looked so genuinely concerned about finding the right words, that I couldn't help but try to reassure him. I squeezed his hand. "I believe that you care about me, James. But you don't have to pretend or erase from your mind that I'm a Muggle-born just because you think bringing it up makes me uneasy. It doesn't. It's who I am.

"Of course, some people  _really_  have a problem with that—and I know you're not one of them, but pretending it  _doesn't_  matter hurts just as much as pretending it matters enough to want to turn me and others like me into obscurials. It's—it's a complicated politics. And I  _know_  you care, I just… I'm sorry—I may have overreacted."

I felt suddenly silly. I didn't know why I'd been so hard on him. It just felt  _important_  that I try to explain.

But James shook his head. "No, you've got a point, Lily. We needed to discuss this. If we're going to survive the shitstorm that's brewing around us, you and I have got to be on the same page. My heart is, obviously, but there's a lot about the Muggle-born experience I don't know. Please tell me when I say or do anything particularly insensitive. I don't want to be careless and hurt you because I don't know."

The ferocity and earnestness in his eyes were magnetic, and his slightly parted lips as he finished his speech had never been so alluring. I stood up on my tiptoes and wrapped my arms around his neck, pulling his head slightly forward, my fingers curling into the sexy, silvery locks at the nape of his neck.

James, ever impatient, crashed our lips together, his hands trailing up my sides and settling around my waist, and his fingers pressing into the small of my back. My eyes fluttered closed as I lost myself in the feel of him, the taste of him, the grassy, soapy smell of him. His tongue ran along my lips, and I opened them, a sound of contented delight escaping me as he deepened the kiss.

Fire seemed to run through my blood as I tugged on his hair, twisting the soft, curling strands between my fingers, and James hummed pleasantly, the vibrations against my lips feeling like absolute bliss. We pressed ourselves as close to each other as possible, what with our school robes forming an unfair barrier between us.

The wind picked up, swirling my hair in all directions, but James only pulled away long enough to grasp the dark red tendrils into one fist before brushing his lips against mine again. I reached up to pull my scarf away from my neck; our snogging session was warming me up rather successfully, even as James's Warming Charm began to wane against the elements.

Wrapped in the warmth of kissing James, I vaguely registered someone clearing their throat from some place far away, but I ignored it. My fingers were travelling along James's jawline, feeling the stubble beneath my fingertips, and pulling his mouth closer to mine, the feeling electric and insatiable.

Then someone coughed rather loudly, and I began to shift my focus, my attention rearranging itself so that it wasn't all  _James's lips, James's tongue, James's hands, James's cologne, James, James, James_.

"Pardon me," said a woman's voice. "Your friends over there told me to come find you. Head Boy and Head Girl, yes?"

I whined meekly into James's mouth before pulling away and stepping back from my very sexy, very kissable boyfriend to entertain some intruder with absolutely no consideration for that fact. Also, these friends of ours—they were dead just for suggesting she interrupt us.

"Yes," answered James, swallowing thickly. He scrambled to put his glasses back on, apparently having pocketed them at some point.

A young woman of about twenty-five stood before us, dressed in official Ministry of Magic robes, the emblem embroidered over her heart in purple thread. She had dark hair cropped close to her head and the most wicked winged eyeliner over a pair of shining black eyes that I'd ever seen. She had an air of dignity about her that I instantly admired, and I tried very hard not to feel embarrassed about the indignity in which she'd found us.

"Sorry about that," I offered pathetically.

"That's alright," she said, smirking a bit as she gave James an appreciative once over.

Well, that was new. I guess I wasn't the only one who found his silver hair acutely appealing. I inched closer to James, feeling strangely territorial. "Can we help you?" I asked, with a little more steel to my voice than before.

She nodded, all at once professional. "Yes. I'm here representing the Department of Magical Games and Sports. Please take me to the Headmaster."

"Of course, Ma'am," James acquiesced. "If you'll follow me." Immediately, he stalked towards the castle doors, and held them open for her as she wandered inside.

He grinned easily at her, and I narrowed my eyes at her retreating back.

I was feeling irrationally jealous. I mean, James had practically admitted he had  _very_  strong feelings for me, we'd just had a  _very_  good snog, and here I was, wanting to pull him away from Doing His Job as Head Boy like I'd wanted him to do just because some Ministry official had liked what she'd seen.

Lily Evans, Pathetically Possessive Toddler.

James sent me an imploring look, and I trudged up the stairs to catch up. "Well, that was embarrassing," he muttered, squeezing my hand in his.

The Ministry official turned back to us, and for completely innocent reasons, I felt compelled to reach up and plant a kiss on the hollow of James's cheek. "We'll just have to finish up later," I whispered, my hand lingering on his chest as I walked over to our guest. "This way," I addressed her, and directed her to the Headmaster's Tower.

We walked in silence for a few moments, climbing up stairs and rounding a corner or two on our way to see Professor Dumbledore. Eventually, the silence must have gotten to her because she inquired, "What do you know of the new Hippogriff league?"

I heard James chuckle. "Enough," he said. "I can't be a part of it because I captain one of the Quidditch teams, and the school bylaws prohibit it."

The dark-haired woman's voice piqued with interest. "You're the captain of a Quidditch team?"

"Yeah," James said, and I could  _hear_  him blush under her attention.

"Is this your first year as captain?"

"Ah, no, I've been captain three years now," he answered.

" _Really?_ " she replied, more wondrous than ever. She turned and appraised him once more. "You must be quite good, then."

My hand twitched towards my wand; I wanted to hex her.

I looked over at James just in time to watch his cheeks pink with color. "I'm alright. Dependable, I s'pose," he said modestly.

MODESTLY.

_**MODESTLY!?** _

Since WHEN was JAMES POTTER ever  _ **MODEST?!**_

My jaw dropped open at him and he cleared his throat at my expression.

James gestured towards me. "Actually, Lily's captain of a Hippogriff team."

The woman blinked owlishly at me. "You're  _Lily Evans?_ " she asked, astonishment laced through her voice.

I gathered my jaw off the floor and nodded curtly. "Yes, that's me."

"So this is all  _your_  fault," she accused, her tone flat and matter-of-fact. "The reason I've been pulled off the premiere leagues to watch over a bunch of children race around and make sure they don't crash into each other mid-flight, as though you're all desperate to off yourselves."

I raised an eyebrow. "I don't think I can reasonably take credit for all that," I answered primly.

She rolled her eyes.

I led us down another corridor.

"No, probably not," she amended. "It's this Wronski Warrior person's fault for everything. If it wasn't for their compulsive need to settle some stupid argument with a game of Hippogriff, I'd still have my lovely Quidditch box access badge." She sighed whimsically.

"Well, then it's definitely Lily's fault," James said, snickering. He grabbed me by the shoulders and turned me towards our guest. "Meet Hogwarts' very own Winged Wronski Warrior. In the flesh!"

I scowled at him over my shoulder and turned back to the cropped-hair woman standing gobsmacked in front of us.

She gaped for several long seconds, finally saying, "So you're telling me, that on top of being Head Girl, captain of a newly-formed Hippogriff team, and founder of said Hippogriff league, you're also the bleedin' Winged Wronski Warrior?"

Grimacing, I nodded in the affirmative.

Good Godric. I mean, when she put it like that—if I'd been in her situation, I'd probably hate me, too.

But, to my surprise—

"Merlin's beard," she gasped. Then, she stuck out her hand at me. "Bertha Jorkins. Pleasure to meet you!"

My eyes nearly popped out of my sockets.

" _You're_  Bertha Jorkins?!" I exclaimed, shaking her hand. "I've been searching everywhere for you!"

"You have?" she asked, her black eyes shining with curiosity.

I grinned. "It's a long story, but your name basically features in a prophecy about my Hippogriff team."

Bertha cocked her head to the side. "Interesting."

I probably should have kept that  _'interesting'_  fact to myself.

James coughed, and said, "The Headmaster's office is just this way." He led Bertha around another corner and down a long corridor until we were met with a stone gargoyle.

It immediately sprang to life, asking Bertha to state the purpose of her visit. After it had, presumably, relayed this information up to the Headmaster, it jumped aside, revealing a spiraling staircase that led up to his office.

"Well, good luck," I said.

"Yeah, thanks," she answered. "And hey, sorry for complaining before. I didn't really mean any of it—I was just frustrated, you know? You think you're on your way up in your career, and then they send you back to Hogwarts. It just felt like a step backwards. But I think I'll enjoy it—being the referee." Bertha smiled, and it looked as though she really meant it. "Anyway, I look forward to working with you. And hearing more about that prophecy."

I returned her smile, feeling the sheets of ice that had grown between us melt away. "Likewise. See you later!"

She turned to James and waved goodbye at him before climbing up the stairs to see Dumbledore. The gargoyle slid noisily back into place, guarding the staircase and blocking anyone from reaching it without the proper procedure or password.

James leaned against the stone wall and let out a low whistle. "Well, that was random. How are you feeling, love?"

"How in the world could Sruthi have predicted  _that_?" I avoided his question.

He frowned. "What are you talking about?"

OH RIGHT. He didn't know about Sruthi and Freyja and her weird not-exactly-prophesizing talents.

I waved my hand in casual dismissal. "Nothing, don't worry about it." Then, possessed by a mad idea, I grinned wickedly up at him. "What do you say we sneak up on our technicolored friends and sic the Giant Squid on them?"

James looked surprised, but equally as devilish. "I knew you were the right girl for me, Lily Evans," he quipped.

I laughed, and he pulled me into a sweet hug. I breathed in his James smell and sighed, smiling contentedly against his chest. Then, I grinned sweetly up at him, declared, "Race you!" and took off down the corridor.

"Oi!" I heard him call after me. "You're setting a bad example for the students! No running in the castle!"

I laughed so hard that he easily overtook me, and we spent the next twenty minutes giggling like mad and trying to beat each other out the doors.

* * *

Professor McGonagall had caught us running across the Entrance Hall, and in addition to a very long-winded and burr-filled lecture, we'd lost Gryffindor ten points.

 _Each_.

To which James complained, of course, and the glare she'd given him was so withering, he'd shut up immediately. No use in tempting our Head of House with more ammunition for punishment.

By the time she'd completed her lecture, however, our friends were already bounding back inside. Professor McGonagall shot them a stern look, and they quieted dramatically.

"Evening, Minnie," greeted Sirius in a jibing tone.

She raised a perfectly black eyebrow at him in response and turned on her heel as though deciding that she'd had enough of the Seventh Year Gryffindors for one afternoon. We all burst into sniggers as soon as she walked through the doors that led to the staircases.

"D'you know what, Lily? You have such mad ginger hair that I don't think any one of us realized you hadn't had your hair Color Changed," observed Remus innocently, but there was a definite twinkle of mischief in his amber eyes.

"Love, you're absolutely right! I hadn't noticed it myself," chimed in Sirius.

"Well, you mustn't be left out," added Peter.

"Definitely not," agreed James.

The Marauders closed in on me as my useless friends looked on and laughed.

"I bet lavender would do nicely," offered Jen.

"Traitor!" I mock-yelled at her.

She only grinned in response, twirling a lock of her short, peach-colored hair between her fingers.

I backed away slowly as the Marauders closed the distance between us.

"Don't fight it, Lily!" ordered Marlene.

"Yeah, be a pal!" said Mary.

And even though I was secretly delighted at being  _forced_  to be included in my friends' mad plot, I had committed to fighting it off.

"You're all dead to me!" I called over at them.

The Marauders laughed, wearing identical grins of total trouble.

"What do you think, Prongs?" asked Sirius, weaving his wand artfully between his long fingers. "Magenta, mauve, chartreuse, greige—"

"What the Bloody Barron is  _'greige_ '?" asked Peter.

No one answered him. (I suspected this was because no one had an answer.)

Remus tapped his wand against his forehead solemnly, as though in deep thought. "Jen's suggestion wasn't bad, but I have a feeling James already has a different idea."

They all looked at James, who was staring at me with a look I couldn't quite place, his gaze filled with some unknowable emotion. "That I do, Moony, that I do…"

James lifted his wand and expertly Charmed my hair into a different color, earning a gasp from our group of friends, and leaving a satisfied, content smile on his face.

"Oh,  _wow_ ," breathed Jen.

Sirius clapped James on the back in wonder. "Merlin, Prongs. I had no idea you could make something so—"

" _Pretty_ ," finished Mary.

I grabbed the ends of my long hair and pulled them up to my face to try and see what everyone was oohing and ahhing about.

My ends were a deep, rich turquoise with strands of emerald green, lavender, and silver mixed in. The colors seemed to dance and glimmer iridescently as the strands of hair shifted between my fingers. Curious, I looked up at James in silent question.

"It's the aurora borealis," he explained. "In your hair. You're welcome." I could tell he was trying to sound confident and self-assured, but his Adam's apple wavered slightly, as though he were nervous I wouldn't approve of his choice. Merlin, he was so attractive.

I jumped him.

I didn't care that our friends were all there. There was just something about James Potter that made me want to jump his bones at all times, and when he did something as enchanting as charm my hair with some complex magic so that it looked like the frigging Northern Lights, I couldn't help but lose my self-restraint.

Our kiss was shorter than I wanted, but heated. I didn't want to make our friends  _too_  uncomfortable. They'd all catcalled and wolf-whistled long enough, anyway.

"Erm," I started, catching my breath and staring deeply into James's eyes. "I reckon it's time we go—do that—thing, James."

James, having zero idea what I was talking about, but feeling similarly heated, simply nodded and said in a low voice, "Right. The Thing."

"Catch you all later," I said, never once breaking eye contact with James.

"Oh,  _right_ ," called Sirius after us as we made our way towards our Heads Office. "Just let Evans put up the Silencing Charm, Prongs. She's way better at it than you!"

James put up two fingers in his best mate's general direction, but there was a smirk on his face as he laced our fingers together and stole another kiss from me.

Yeah, I could definitely see myself falling in love with this mad, maddening boy.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> McGonagall is having nobody's shit on this day, and she really expected better of Lily Evans, but she supposes it was only a matter of time before that brilliant but boisterous Potter corrupted her model student into breaking some rules. Still, at least nobody else's head ended up inside a pumpkin, and she silently thanks Merlin that Potter is an only child.


	16. To Mungo Jerry

James and I had been chatting (and maybe snogging a bit—alright, a  _lot_ ) for the better part of an hour in the Heads' Office when we got interrupted by a loud rapping at the (very) locked door.

"You heard that, too, right?" James asked between kisses.

I registered another round of knocking, and groaned in protest as James pulled away from me.

"Better straighten up," he advised. To the door, he shouted, "In a minute!"

I opened my eyes just in time to see him run his hands uselessly through his still-silver hair, the sticky-uppy bits at the back just as wild as ever. I snorted, pulling my robes over my school uniform and quickly charming my hair into a plait, just in case.

We locked gazes and he winked before putting his glasses back on.

Just as James walked over to the door, I opened up the prefects' scheduling ledger so that it might look like we'd been Very Busy with Actual Work (and not snogging like the filthy, hormonal teenagers that we were).

However, at James's reaction to whoever was on the other side of the door—"The fuck do you want?"—I realized such pretense was unnecessary.

I got up and peered over James's shoulder and spotted Frank Longbottom, looking disheveled and shifty, lacking the detached composure he so easily carried when he was in journalist mode.

"I—er… I felt I had to—explain," Frank answered. "Is Lily here?"

" _Longbottom_ ," James started, his voice on edge as though he were going to insult him, but then thought better of it and sighed. He stepped back and gestured Frank inside.

Frank shuffled through the doorway. Upon seeing me, he said, "Ah, good. I was hoping you'd be here, Lily. I was sorry to see the final edition of my article—you understand, I really had no idea that—"

"No excuses, Longbottom," James warned. "Just get to the point."

Frank winced. "It's not that simple, Potter. I need your help."

James scoffed.

"Is it because of Rookwood?" I asked, attempting to diffuse any tension between my idiot boyfriend and the idiot journalist before us. Idiot boys and their idiocy, I tell you!

Frank nodded glumly and sat himself at the long table we usually reserved for our prefect meetings. "He'd offered to help with editing, after spotting some grammatical errors in a few earlier editions of  _The Hogwarts Post_ , and we became partners soon after. Business partners, of course. We started up this zine about things going on in the castle. It's our baby, for lack of a better comparison. Though, apart from wanting to get some good reporting done—with as little grammatical errors as possible, of course—we really have nothing in common. As it turns out." He frowned, clearly upset.

"Rookwood? That Hufflepuff?" James asked, taking a seat across from him, his brows furrowing in confusion.

I sat at the head of the table, feeling rather grateful that James would put away his personal grudges and do the right thing, even if it meant listening to a fellow student vent about his odd Hufflepuff editor.

Frank sighed. "Yeah, that's old Auggie. You know, he and Alice were friends for a bit. She tutored him in Herbology. She sort of distanced herself from him last year, though. Said he was a bit too twisted." At our blank looks, he shrugged. "His sense of humor," he clarified. "Too dark for Alice's taste. She's too idealistic to find his cynicism charming."

"Right, so what does his twisted sense of humor have to do with this rubbish article?" pressed James.

"Well, I'd written it all up. I had a whole feature on the Rhiannon Riders and the Neckbreakers—no mention of you at all, Lily—but I accidentally gave Auggie my notes instead of the article to publish, and he must have just filled in the blanks so there'd be something on the page."

"Ah," I said.

James hummed, and leaned forward on his elbows, clearly deep in thought.

"He still gave me the byline, that's the most damning thing about it," Frank muttered. "I created the Winged Wronski Warrior—that's your celebrity persona, Lily—and now he's gone and made her into a monster. And people will believe it because my name's on it."

"You can always write a retraction," I suggested.

Frank blinked up at me sadly. "Auggie would never let that happen. Nothing can fix this.  _Unless…"_

Impatient, James crossed his arms and sighed. " _Unless_?" he compelled.

Frank's baby blue eyes were shining as he said, "I need you to kill the  _Post_."

"Frank,  _no!_ " I gasped, in spite of myself.

Frank shook his head. "I cannot stand behind a media institution that manipulates the truth for its own ends."

James pulled a face of confusion. "He wrote  _one_  off article, Longbottom. Don't you think you're being a little melodramatic?"

"James, you don't understand. I only do the sports now, but I've got a small team of writers that have been complaining about the shift in tone of their edits overall. Auggie—I think he's a pureblood supremacist. And I think he's been colluding with Bellatrix Black to turn the public against you, Lily."

"But not even Bellatrix believed that article, Frank," I pointed out.

Frank looked as though he might laugh. "Of course not, Lily.  _She_  knows the truth. But she doesn't need to believe a lie in order to feed it to those around her and get what she wants."

"Okay, what you're talking about is a conspiracy to slander a student's reputation," James said. He glanced at me, a frown draping over his bright, calculating eyes. "How exactly are Lily and I supposed to pursue that without any actual proof? I assume you're not going to testify against your business partner."

Frank grimaced. "Well, yes, you'd be correct. I'd need it to be a clean break with old Auggie, and I have just the thing: it turns out that we're using a bit of an illegal charm to make duplicate copies—and you could shut us down pretty quickly after discovering that."

James and I exchanged a surprised glance. Without the supervision of a professor, casting a Duplicate Charm was against school rules. Materially, a Duplicate Charm conjured a duplicate on a subatomic level that could spontaneously combust, resulting in fire or explosion—and if the Duplicate was large enough, it could even warp time-space.

Normally, Duplicate Charms were the sort of thing you could get away with on a smaller scale, as long as you didn't get caught. But if you  _were_  caught, the consequences bordered on dire. Especially if you were making  _hundreds_  of Duplicates, increasing the chances of a magical mishap.

James nodded at me, and I leaned toward Frank.

"Alright, I'm listening," I said.

* * *

Seventh Year was not supposed to be the year that I willingly crafted and executed the most backhanded schemes so that  _legally_ —or at least within the school's terms of what was allowed and what wasn't—I could systematically shut down all the insidious ways that pureblood supremacy seemed to creep in through all the cracks in the castle walls.

I felt more like a Slytherin than ever—not that that was a bad thing, but I felt far removed from my more straightforward nature.

"But you're  _fighting_  Slytherins," Marlene reminded me during Operation Fire Dragon the next day. "You've got to be one step ahead of them."

I sighed, laying resignedly over the neck of my broom. "It just feels … unnatural. Why can't I just confront Rookwood or Bellatrix and Nott and end this?"

"Because this is much bigger than you and any one individual," Jen piped in, carefully balancing a Quaffle in one hand before chucking it at Mary.

It hit Mary in the stomach, and she keeled over her broom, pulling a face of discomfort.

"Sorry!" Jen called over to her.

Mary glared at Jen, but ducked down to retrieve the falling Quaffle before popping back up and throwing it to me.

I caught it easily with one hand, trying not to look as surprised and pleased with myself as I felt. "But I just want a normal Seventh Year, with normal Seventh Year problems! I thought my biggest challenge was going to be working with James as our Head Boy."

Marlene caught the Quaffle and threw it at Mary in a single movement. "Unfortunately, things with You-Know-Who are getting more serious."

"He's really stirring up a following and it's bloody terrifying— _oof! Mary Macdonald, get back here!"_  Jen sped off, tracking a retreating Mary, who had gotten her sweet revenge and knocked the wind out of her with a Quaffle to the stomach.

I stared up at Marlene and shrugged. She grinned wickedly and began doing her Donna Summer disco arms, her still-pink curls catching in the sunlight as she danced.

Secretly, I think Marlene must have enjoyed having pink hair; everyone else's Color Changing Charms had already worn off. The only way her hair was still pink after a week was if she'd been reapplying the charm herself.

I laughed as her disco arms progressed to an in-flight performance of The Hustle. "Marley, you're an absolute miracle!" I cheered, as she turned her broom in small, artful circles.

Naturally, this caught the attention of her twin in mischief, Sirius Black, who joined her not a moment later, twirling with her in sync while whistling the  _Star Wars_  theme. He had, of course, found the Muggle disco track and made the whole common room listen to the vinyl on his Charmed record player. It'd been stuck in our heads for  _weeks_ at this point. Although, that might not be such a bad idea if—

I gasped, a brilliant idea entering my head. "Oh! Sirius! Could you please do that during my team's first match?" I requested excitedly, imagining whole throngs of students in the stands cheering and singing the  _Star Wars_  theme tune as The Millennium Falcons crushed the opposition.

"Only if you're good," he answered with a wink.

He flew off before I could retort, leaving me gaping in offense, deflated and more than a little miffed.

Honestly. So rude.

Marlene laughed. "Of course he's going to do that during your first match, Lily. And if he doesn't, I'll make sure he knows he's a ponce. A few whacks to the head should do it."

I rolled my eyes, my gaze catching on Mary, who easily outflew Jen, though who kept dipping in height when laughing too hard. They flew past the goalposts, and the Marauders, who were hanging upside down on their brooms in an apparent battle of nerve.

Mary and Jen continued on along the perimeter of the pitch, a bit slower, as Jen lost some steam, until they reached the middle of the field, where they stopped flying, and just hovered, taken by conversation.

"I heard you met the new ref," Marlene said. She Summoned one of the many Quaffles from the ground and passed it to me.

"Yeah, Bertha Jorkins," I answered, throwing the Quaffle a bit to the left of where Marlene was hovering. "We got off on the wrong foot, she and I."

Marlene zipped through the air to catch the Quaffle, and when she returned, she tossed it from hand to hand, as though unwilling to trust my aim if she tossed it to me instead. "Really? She was talking about how good you were."

"What? When did  _you_  meet her?" I asked, meeting her eyes. For the first time I'd ever known Marlene, she shied away from my glance and actually  _blushed_. " _Mar_?!"

"I ran into her the other day. After you and the Captain left to go snog because he'd Charmed your hair—oi, oi!" She cheered. "Anyway, I thought I'd come out to the pitch and get a few laps in before the sun set, and she was just there." She had a faraway look in her eyes, a hint of a sparkle.

"On the pitch?" I asked.

She blinked and nodded. "Yeah, flying. I've never seen anyone fly like her before…" She trailed off again, but then shook her head and met my gaze. "So I got up on my broom and joined her, asked for some pointers."

"What'd she say?"

"Well, after I established that I was  _not_  on a Hippogriff team, she said I had to fly with my blood."

"Your _blood?_ Is she _—"_  I stopped myself. Bertha Jorkins a blood supremacist?

Marlene shook her head sharply, understanding my unasked question. "No, no—nothing like that, Lily. No, I think she meant that I had to let go, stop controlling the broom, and just  _fly_. You know?"

I bit down on my bottom lip. I  _did_  know. It's what I had to do during all those flying lessons with James.

_Let go_.

I suppose I'd also let my guard down because I ended up falling for the idiot.

OH.

"Mar, did you fall in love with Bertha Jorkins?" I asked very quickly, very seriously, and very abruptly.

Marlene dropped the Quaffle, her eyes wide and as earnest as I'd ever seen them. She blinked very slowly and looked down at her hands, realizing the Quaffle had slipped through them. Finally, she looked back up at me and said, "Well, fuck."

She didn't have to say anything. She was still working it out for herself, and to that end, she dipped the neck of her broom and dove toward the fallen Quaffle.

Well, that was quite the development. I couldn't help but feel a faint sense of disappointment as we never got around to the part of the conversation where Bertha Jorkins said I was really good.

* * *

That evening, The Millennium Falcons and I had our first official practice on the Hippogriff pitch. It was time to buckle down and form a first string of players. We warmed up with some basic stretching, running, push-ups, and sit-ups, during which Gideon Prewett shot up and let out a long blast of wind that scattered the rest of us across the pitch in terrible fits of laughter.

It took us a few moments to organize ourselves after that.

Eventually, Jen, clipboard in one hand, and wand in the other, spelled an invisible line across the finish line that would capture our finish times as we raced one another.

The six of us waited on the ground, ready to run and fly up into the air as soon as Jen gave us the cue. A general sense of giddiness seemed to curl itself around us, which was a much better feeling than the usual unease and anxiety I felt whenever I had to try and prove my flying skills to anyone.

The Prewett twins were waging all sorts of absurd bets over which of the two would place before the other. Caradoc nervously spouted off flying statistics, while Abed and Harriet listened politely.

Finally, a burst of gold sparks burst from Jen's wand, Caradoc shouted, "Good golly!" and we were off.

By the end of our trial races, there was one clear anchor flyer—the person who would finish up the race because of their dependable speed and agility: Harriet Seabury.

She was a remarkably quick flyer, who zipped past us quite efficiently at every trial, though only on her old Comet broom. She'd had so much trouble with the school brooms that she insisted she do the trials on her own. Perhaps because she'd used it her whole life, she knew how to use it to her advantage.

Puzzled and perhaps a little disgruntled by her bewildering mastery, Caradoc demanded that he study her flight techniques so that he might be able to figure out what we could learn from her and apply it to the way the rest of us handled the school's array of brand new Cleansweeps, which  _should_  be faster than the old line of Comets.

"If we can crack  _this_ , gang, we'll surely be on our way!" he declared, pushing his orange glasses up his nose, and readjusting his wristbands.

"Reckon this is what we get for havin' a Ravenclaw on the team," Harriet muttered as she took to the sky for the third time in a row, demonstrating her flying prowess to her studious teammate.

As our second-fastest flyer, once we'd averaged out our overall times, Caradoc would be our starter. Despite all of their hippogriffing around before they took to the skies, the Prewett twins tied for third place, and myself and Abed were only seconds within each other in fourth and fifth places, respectively. Despite being the Wronski Warrior, I had a lot of work to do, if I was ever going to race Bellatrix's team in a match and  _win_.

"Suppose I won't be racing much, eh?" Abed asked, rubbing the back of his neck sheepishly.

"Course you will!" I answered, confusion drawing my face into a frown. "Why wouldn't you?"

He ducked his head. "I was last…"

"But you came in second on our first trial, Abed. You just need to work up your stamina. It's what practice is for. Besides, maybe the Doc will learn something useful from Harriet and we can all benefit."

That didn't seem to make him feel any better.

Fabian clapped Abed on the back reassuringly. "Don't worry, mate. Inevitably, Gids the Git and I will end up in some sort of horrifying collision, and you an' the Cap'll have to save the day." He flashed Abed a winning smile, and instead of feeling disarmed by the wiry boy's arm around his shoulder, Abed relaxed into his embrace.

It must feel nice, I thought, for Abed to finally get on with some boys in the school.

"You'd better not collide in the middle of a match, Fae!" I called out to Fabian, who waved me off and burst out laughing, leaning onto Abed for support. Abed pinked with pleasure.

I wondered at Fabian's ability to ease the group's tensions with a simple dose of ridiculous cheer. Then I remembered how easily Alice seemed to be able to move through several different groups of students at Hogwarts, regardless of their house or their views, always friendly, always engaging. She'd been a brilliant Head Girl.

I could stand to learn a few things from the Prewetts yet.

* * *

I got an owl from home the next morning.

> _Dearest Lily,_
> 
> _There might be reason for you to be away at the start of winter holiday, but will you be home for Christmas? Your sister and her husband have invited me to their new flat for the holiday. It's in one of those depressing little places in Surrey, where everything looks identical. Your father would have hated it. However, seeing as he isn't around to whinge about it at length, I thought I'd extend that honor to you._
> 
> _Please don't leave me alone with them. If I have to have another conversation about the manufacturing of drills, I will drill myself into the centre of the Earth. (That doesn't really exist, does it? Part of me thinks H.G. Wells might have known a thing or two about the Wizarding World.) I'm not joking. (I am. Sort of. The tiniest bit.)_
> 
> _As your mother, I am half-begging, half-ordering you to come home for Christmas, if only to make sure I don't go batty. I already feel dreadfully off my rocker when I catch myself asking your father something, only to realize he can't actually be in the room with me. I really miss him. I really miss you. (I am using every tool at my disposal to get you to come home, of course, but I do truly miss you.)_
> 
> _All my love,_
> 
> _The woman who gave birth to you and raised you and who put up no fuss when she found out you must be whisked away to boarding school in Scotland to learn to become a witch of all things. (And Head Girl this year, too! I am so proud. Dad would have been so proud.)_
> 
> _I love you dearly,_
> 
> _Mum_
> 
> _P.S. Mary wrote me saying that you and that Potter boy are (finally, thank goodness) dating now. Congratulations! (I hear he's rich.)_
> 
> _P.P.S. Invite him over for the hols, too? Strength in numbers and all that._

I felt a surge of love for my crazy Mum. Honestly. I didn't know how she didn't have her own sit-com on the Beebs yet—the woman was deliriously hilarious.

But I understood. She used her sense of humor to cope with everything.

I knew it sounded like she couldn't stand to be around Petunia and Vernon, but really, I thought she knew that  _I_  couldn't stand to be around them, and she just wanted us all to be together at Christmas. Especially since it was the first Christmas without my father, who had passed away last winter.

But first things first.

I had to murder Mary for tattling on me to my mother about my new boyfriend. And telling her he was well-off! Good Godric. I was infinitely embarrassed.

I found Mary sitting a few seats away from me with Marlene and Peter. I slammed my letter down in front of her, folded in such a way so that only Mum's first postscript showed.

"Would you care to explain this, Mary dear?" I asked, voice a little sharp.

Marlene grinned. "That a letter from home, then? She must have gotten that owl, Mary. Told you Mrs. Evans lived in Cokeworth!"

I glared back at her.

"Oh my  _god_ , Marlene! Shut it!" said Mary.

"I can't believe you were on in this, too!" I exclaimed at Marlene.

She shrugged, nonchalant as ever. "I was just making sure the right sort of Muggle got a letter by owl. International Statue of Secrecy and all that."

Mary blew a raspberry at her, and Peter laughed.

"I don't believe a word you've just said," I informed her. I turned to Mary, whose early morning hair was tied in a mess of feathered ends at the top of her head. "Well? What have you got to say for yourself?"

Mary finally met my eyes, her bottom lip sucked in her mouth sheepishly. "Er, well." She shot a look over at Marlene, who nodded in reply, as though giving her permission to speak. Mary sighed, her fringe fluttering about her forehead at the sudden gust. "I wanted to know if your mum would be alright with you staying with me the first week of hols. And I just wanted everything to be properly set up so that there wouldn't be any reason for you to say no, because it's very important to me that you're there—but I knew you might not feel alright if your mum wasn't already expecting you to miss a week of break.

"I probably should have asked you first before going to your mum, now that I think about it—but that was my logic at the time. And anyway, we sort of had a few exchanges where we wondered about your plans and such without outright asking you anything, and I mentioned that you might have made plans with James, and then she asked who James was, and it would have been very rude of me not to reply, wouldn't it, Lily? I couldn't just  _not answer her_ , so I told her—the whole story, starting from about first year."

My eyes widened in slight horror. "Mary,  _what did you tell my mum?_ "

Marlene snickered into her hands. "What  _didn't_  she tell her?"

Mary grimaced.

"Oh my Godric," I breathed. "Why? Why did you—I still don't understand. Why do you need me to be here for the first week of the holiday?"

Mary rolled her eyes. "I'm doing one of those traditional wizarding coming-of-age balls, and it requires a lot of preparation and planning. And writing your mum is a part of that,  _because_ ," she sighed exasperatedly, "I wanted to ask you to be one of the ladies of my presentation court."

"Huh?" I said.

Marlene laughed as Mary grumbled, "Oh, where's Jen when you need her?"

Peter cleared his throat. "It's a traditional wizarding custom, back when the royal court had something to do with wizards. The old pureblood families would present their daughters at court when they were of age to the Muggle nobility. It was most impressive when wizarding families put on a show for the royals at the presentation. Anyway, then they started burning witches at the stake and you lot had to go into hiding, so magical families were no longer welcome at court, but the tradition more or less remained. It was a way for the pureblood families to keep track of each other."

We all gawked at him.

He blinked. "I got an O.W.L. in History of Magic," he said by way of explanation.

"You and the Doc should meet," I replied.

Peter merely smirked and popped a bit of iced bun into his mouth, satisfied.

I turned to Mary. "So, you want me to go to your coming-of-age ceremony?"

Mary bit her lip. "Yes, but more than that, I want you to be  _in_  the ceremony. You're one of my best friends, and—oh, this is all wrong! I haven't even got the flower crowns or the agate boxes ready yet!" She put her head in her hands, truly overwhelmed.

I shot Marlene a look, and she raised her eyebrows.

"She had a whole plan," Marlene deadpanned.

"I had a whole plan!" Mary parroted, her head shooting up, and looking thoroughly miffed. "I was meant to give us a nice picnic, and ask you all with the proper magical trinkets!"

"But instead you owled my mum and told her my entire history and current relationship with James Potter," I pointed out.

She narrowed her eyes. "Alright,  _yes_ , so I made  _one tiny mistake_ , but—you weren't meant to find out!"

I raised an eyebrow at her.

"I'm sorry," she sighed, and her fringe went up again. "But will you at least consider it? Even though I sort of went behind your back and tattled to your mum? I couldn't bear it if you weren't there!"

I rolled my eyes. "I'm obviously going, Mary," I said.

Her blue eyes widened and welled up with tears. "Really?" she exclaimed, and before I could answer, she'd thrown her arms around me in a tight hug as she cried happily into my robes.

"Of course," I laughed. "But you  _have_  to tell me everything you've told my mum. What does she mean by 'finally'? And why have you told her that James is rich? That's stretching it a bit, isn't it?"

Mary pulled away from me as she, Marlene, and Peter all burst out laughing.

Frowning, I surveyed each of them. "I mean, I know he comes from a family of purebloods and his family has donated some Quidditch equipment to the school, but it's not like he's got vast caverns of gold in Gringotts, is it?"

Peter laughed his chortling laugh, a hand on his belly, his face pinking with mirth. "Oh, Evans. You've  _no idea_!"

"About what?" I growled, exasperated.

Marlene held out one finger as she attempted to control her laughter enough to speak. Finally, she said, "Ever hear of Sleakeazy's Hair Potion?"

Bewildered, I cocked my head to the side. "The cosmetic product?"

Mary laughed quite loudly at that.

Marlene grinned. "That's his dad's invention."

I was even more bewildered than before. "But his hair's always so—"

Someone plopped down next to me, and considering they planted a warm kiss on my cheek, I deduced it was none other than the subject of our conversation. Speak of the basilisk.

"Morning," chirped James, stretching forward as he reached for a teapot across the table.

We all craned our necks towards him in tandem to take a good long look at the wild tresses of jet black hair that seemed to reach out in every direction from the back of his head, our expressions equal parts amusement and disbelief. The sticky-uppy bits were feeling extra rebellious this morning, it seemed. Marlene stifled a laugh.

I reached up and attempted to rake my hands through his hair, but James jerked out of the way as he leaned over the table again for a few sugars. When he sat back down, I let my hands travel from the nape of his neck up to his scalp, massaging my fingers through his surprisingly soft hair.

James practically purred with sleepy delight. He turned to give me a blissful, sleepy smile, before bringing his cup of tea to his lips and taking a sip.

"So Mary's having a party," Marlene said, conversationally.

Peter snorted as Mary whined, "Marlene!"

James brightened up a little, but leaned back into my hand all the same. "When is it?" he asked, shooting another contented smile in my direction.

He was a puppy.

James stretched his arms leisurely above him and moved his head slightly so that I'd continue petting him.

Alright, maybe he was more of a cat.

"First week of hols," answered Peter.

Mary pursed her lips into a worried line. "I would have liked the opportunity to invite everyone  _properly_ ," she said pointedly at Marlene and Peter, "though seeing as how the kneazle's out of the bag, I may as well get on with it."

James regarded her curiously, taking another sip of tea.

I'd grown rather tired of massaging his scalp and had retreated my hand to my side. It was there only seconds before James grasped it in his and started tracing maddening circles onto my skin with his fingertips.

"James Potter," Mary announced, gathering her wits and squaring her shoulders, "will you be one of my gentlemen of the court?"

James grinned widely, and set down his teacup. He bowed his head dramatically in his seat and said, "It would be my honor, Mary Macdonald." His eyes were positively twinkling.

Mary smiled, her cheeks pink with cheer. "Perfect! You'll be dancing with Lily."

"Dancing?" I asked, alarmed. "You didn't say there would be dancing."

Marlene rolled her eyes. "It's a  _presentation_  court, Lily. Of course there'll be dancing."

My eyes were as wide as saucers, I was certain. "But I don't  _know_  any of the wizarding dances—you can't have forgotten third year!"

James snorted into his tea, and Peter laughed openly.

"No one could forget  _that_ , Evans!" Peter exclaimed through his nonsensical chortling.

I crossed my arms in front of my chest and pouted. "It wasn't  _that_  funny."

Marlene cracked a smile. "You did the chicken dance, Lily. The  _chicken dance_."

"To Mungo Jerry," added Peter, with an expression suggesting he was rather embarrassed  _for_  me.

Mary laughed. "In front of the international students! Oh my goodness!"

James smirked at me. "Got yourself a little nickname as well, didn't you? What was it?" He tapped his forehead as though in deep thought, then jumped up in  _sudden realization_.

I narrowed my eyes at him, just daring him to say it.

"Poo-poulet!" he shouted.

I shoved him as he and the rest of my ex-mates burst into laughter. "Oh,  _Merlin_ , please for the love of Godric, shut  _up_!" I grumbled. "I'm having war flashbacks."

It was the winter of 1973. The Yule Ball was in full swing. The band the Ministry had hired was doing covers of some wizarding hits, and since everyone had until that point, been doing some rather funny footwork on the dance floor, I had refused to dance at all.

But then. The Mungo Jerry song, "In the Summertime," came on and the flash of recognition in my eyes was enough for Marlene to push me into the middle of a befuddled bunch of wizards, unfamiliar with the Muggle tune.

"Go on! You can dance a Muggle dance!" she'd whispered.

And there I was, gobsmacked and frozen in place. Until my limbs—my uncoordinated, prepubescent, gangly limbs—crumpled and became all angles. I was doing the chicken dance. To Mungo Jerry. In front of all the international students.

For a moment, everything was okay, because the crowd was too shocked to react. But then someone laughed. And then someone else did, too. Soon, the entire hall was just wave after wave of laughter.

I should have stopped dancing probably. But I am a Gryffindor. And my house traits are only evident at the most ridiculous of moments.

I continued to do the chicken dance, despite all the laughing, hoping to either a) play off my awkward dancing as some very deliberate joke, or b) infect the crowd with my contagious moves and get everyone to join in.

Marlene must have taken pity on me and called for backup, because as soon as the crowd had started chanting "Poo-poulet," Marlene and Sirius Black flanked me and joined in on the chicken dance. The crowd cheered, but I was petrified and my fight or flight system had chosen its default chicken dance setting.

They had to force me to bow at the end of the song, and gently escorted me off the dance floor. It had taken me hours to stop staring at the floor, as I replayed the event over and over in complete shock, trying to process what had just happened, and why exactly I had done the chicken dance to represent my Muggle heritage.

James pulled me into his side and pressed a kiss to my hair, shaking me from my thoughts. "It's alright, Lily. Although I have to admit," and he directed a full-frontal smile of delight straight into my face, "that may have been the moment I knew I'd found someone just as bonkers as me. My little Poo-poulet! I've been smitten ever since."

I tried not to melt into a pile of jelly as Peter snorted and exlciamed, "Poo-poulet!"

I glared at him. Peter didn't seem too fazed. Did he not realize his mate was the sweetest boy on the planet and he had ruined a perfectly good moment?

"Don't worry, you mad little chicken," James said, squeezing my shoulder, "I'll teach you to dance."

"Somebody had better," muttered Mary. "I won't have a less than stunning presentation."

I rolled my eyes. "Yes, Mary."

James grasped my hand in his and nuzzled my nose with his. "Think you can manage not to sprout feathers until then, Lily?"

I groaned against him. "I hate you."

His smile widened. "Nah, you don't."

"No, I don't," I said, fighting off a smile.

"Well,  _I_  hate the pair of you," said Mary. "For Merlin's sake—get a room!" She slammed her palms down on the table and got up. "I'm going to the baths."

Marlene finished off her jam and toast and saluted us before getting up and following Mary out of the Great Hall.

Peter let out a low whistle and clambered out of his seat. "I'm not like, abandoning the two of you or anything, but I  _am_  finished with brekkie, so I'm going to leave as well. Nothing personal."

He got up and walked backwards slowly out of the Great Hall.

"He totally abandoned us," I said, watching Peter reach for the doors behind him.

"Totally," agreed James.

"Thank Merlin," I said, and James laughed.

He served himself a plate of fried eggs and sausages, then levitated a scone and a bowl of porridge over to my plate. We chatted idly about our mad friends, classes, and my terrible dancing ("Honestly, how am I supposed to study for my N.E.W.T.s, complete my Head Girl duties, captain a Hippogriff team,  _and_  learn to dance without ending up in the Janus Thickey Ward?") before Frank sat down across from us and put his head in his hands.

"Alright, Longbottom?" asked James casually, though he'd stiffened slightly at Frank's arrival.

Frank was a total mess. His facial hair had grown into a beard since we'd seen him last week. He peered up at us, his baby blue eyes draping tiredly over dark circles. He ran his fingers over his patchy beard and shook his head, sighing loudly.

"No luck with Rookwood, eh?" James guessed.

"I don't think you'll be able to shut it down," he murmured.

"And why's that?" asked James.

Concerned, I poured him a cup of tea and pushed it at him. He took it gratefully, adding quite a lot of cream and sugar.

Erlack.

I knew the poor sod was having a rough time of it, but there is a right way and a wrong way to have a cup of tea, and drowning it in cream and sugar is definitely the wrong way.

I decided to be compassionate, however, and not say so.

Frank took a sip of his tea, and sneered at it, clearly disgusted with the flavor. I tried not to appear too self-righteous about it—because  _of course I was right about it being all wrong_ —and then had to hold myself from gasping as he absolutely massacred his cup of tea with two more sugars.

Sweet,  _sweet_  Merlin!

He seemed satisfied with his tea and continued. "I should have seen it coming, but honestly, I got too caught up in my beat to get involved in office politics and all that."

"Frank, what happened?" I asked, picking over the fried egg on James's plate. James grinned over at me, apparently pleased to find me sharing his food. "We were supposed to check out the presses tomorrow, before the next issue, and discover that illegal Duplicating Charm."

Frank smiled a half-smile, looking anything but happy. "Rookwood's decided to change up the entire press. He got new writers and put the rest of us on odd stories. I'm on the  _agony column_. He's even changed the tagline of the zine."

"But he can't do that to you! It's  _your_  zine!" I exclaimed, nearly rising from my seat in indignation. "It's not fair!"

Frank shrugged. "He's the editor-in-chief, and he made Bellatrix Black creative director. The other writers and I staged a walk-out in protest, and he just replaced us with writers from Black's circle of friends. I managed to find a final draft of the zine set to publish tomorrow. It's horrific." He took another long drag of his tea and wiped his mouth on his robe's sleeve.

"I'm so sorry, mate," consoled James. His eyes softened enough that I knew he meant it.

"The worst bit is the new tagline. 'Real news for the real witch and wizard.'"

"That's positively  _vile_ ," I said.

James shook his head. "It's a blood supremacist takeover."

Frank nodded sadly and finished off his tea, lifting his head back as the last drops poured down his throat. "That was terribly sweet, but I have no appetite for anything less at the moment."

Aha! So he  _was_  aware that his tea was offensive. My opinion of Frank lifted itself back up to a respectable height.

"Frank," I said, leaning forward. "You started that zine. If you can't have it back because the power's gone to someone else's hands, you can't give up. You said your whole team of writers walked out, which means they're out of an extracurricular as well."

"I know where you're going, Lily, and it's not like I haven't thought about it—about starting a new zine. I'm just not sure if I'll be able to survive competing against obviously slanted journalism. It makes me sick, just thinking about the blood supremacist shit that's going to print tomorrow."

James drummed his fingers rhythmically on the table. "And there's no chance he'll be using that Duplicate Charm?"

Frank shrugged. "From what I gathered, he and Black refined the process so that they can get more copies done faster, and they've no use for the unauthorized charm."

James leaned in, quirking an eyebrow conspiratorially. "Not if the presses suddenly stop working,  _and_  they run out of copies in the morning,  _and_  have an unhappy crowd of readers at their front door!"

"James!" I exclaimed.

Frank, however, wasn't so scandalized, and looked, for the first time since he sat down, as though he had a gleam of hope for resistance.

"You haven't officially quit yet, have you?" James pressed on.

The bizarrely bearded boy before us finally grinned. "Not yet," he answered, apparently on the same train of thought as James.

James matched his grin. "Then you know what to do. I'll round up the boys and take care of the rest."

"Brilliant." Frank looked positively relieved and revitalized. He served himself an egg soufflé and tucked in, his appetite apparently returned.

James pushed his plate away and got up. He offered me his hand. I took it and got up myself. James bowed at me and I giggled, bowing back.

"Well done, Lily. That was your first dance lesson and you're a natural!" He winked at me, then lowered his voice, his eyes earnest. "We can get everything done, promise."

As he led me out of the hall, I felt myself positively glow at the thought. Even though I'd been complaining about all the responsibilities that seemed to be piling higher and higher on my metaphorical plate like a great big mountain of unforgiving pancakes, James hadn't even hesitated to share the burden with me.

I squeezed his hand in gratitude, and he threw a happy smile my way. Merlin, the way he looked at me. I could defeat whole mountain trolls as long as James was by my side, making everything  _okay_ , everything  _safe_.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Lily has lots of opinions on the do's and don'ts of tea. For example, iced tea is a don't. Earl grey tea with lavender cream? A definite do! Meanwhile, James has only one rule about using his dad's famous Sleekeazy's Hair Potion: don't. Anyway, I hope you're all enjoying the story so far! Any and all reviews are greatly appreciated; thank you, dear one, for reading. :)


	17. Liberty or Death?

The newest copy of  _The Hogwarts Post_  went into circulation the next morning. The headline?

> _"TOLERANCE" BYLAWS FORCE PRO-HERITAGE STUDENTS INTO SILENCE_

I was positively speechless, much like the students mentioned in the headline.

The article quoted a variety of "anonymous sources," and tried to victimize blood supremacists for their draconian views. One source even said, "I'm sure plenty of people feel this way, but we can't speak out of fear for our safety."

The journalist was none other than Severus Snape, who ended his little think-piece with the following words of wisdom: "If this school truly embraces tolerance, its bylaws should be amended to include every students' most treasured values."

I scoffed, outraged. "Not if those values demean and de-legitimize the right of other students to even  _exist_!" I shouted back at the lifeless paper. "And it's not like they're forced to remain  _silent_ —are you actually shitting me with this, Sev?! They can say whatever they want—they've  _been_  saying whatever they want. I would know; I'm at the receiving end!"

Fuming, I turned to James, who was waiting for me to give the word. "We could lose our badges over this," I said.

"This is more important than our badges, Lily," he argued, and he was right.

I sighed. I'd worked really hard to be Lily Evans, Head Girl. But before that, I'd been Lily Evans, Muggle-rights activist, and after I graduated, that was what would stay with me out of these castle walls. I glanced once more over the hateful words, cloaked artfully with skewed arguments in defense of blood supremacy.

"Liberty or death?" I said finally, conceding.

He nodded. "I'll rally the troops."

* * *

 For Phase I: The Heist, we'd had our respective Quidditch and Hippogriff teams on stand-by, along with our mates and anyone else we knew who would be interested in staging a bit of chaos for our scheme.

They were tasked to very inconspicuously, one by one, blend into the crowd of other students, and take as many copies of the paper as possible before the main breakfast rush at eight o'clock. If they were successful, they'd leave the stands of the  _Post_  bare, forcing the new staff to engage in a bit of illegal Charm-work to get copies for their normal audience.

Frank assured us they usually only made enough copies for 15% of the students to read, as that was their usual amount of readership. Considering the population of Hogwarts this year was nearing a thousand, that meant we had to steal about 150 copies. Slowly. Steadily. Without raising suspicion.

Phase I was simple enough, in theory. Frank hadn't officially quit yet so that he could resume his post as promoter. Unfortunately, he now had to share the job with Mulciber, who glowered at us whenever we came up to the booth.

"Get your copies of  _The Hogwarts Post_  here, my friends!" he called, waving a copy of the familiar zine in the air.

Mary, Caradoc, and I were the fourth group of our operation to walk by his newsstand and pick up copies. Of course, we needed to distract Mulciber during our covert operation, so he wouldn't catch on to our plan and alert the rest of the bigoted news team.

It was my job to perform outrage, which wasn't difficult, considering I'd already read the entire article to know what kind of rubbish Rookwood was peddling.

"Frank, what  _is_  this?" I said, confronting him with my usual air of authority and moral righteousness.

Frank put on his best sheepish expression and grimaced accordingly. "Sorry, Evans. I don't have the final say on what gets published."

I rolled my eyes. "I thought this was  _your_  zine?"

He shrugged. "Doesn't make me editor, does it?" I could sense a bit of resentment in his voice, but I ignored it.

"Don't like it, don't read," grunted Mulciber.

I harrumphed dramatically, clutching his zine furiously in my hand, and stalked off in the direction of the Great Hall.

Once there, I rendezvoused with the half of the gang that had already filched a good portion of the copies. It was nearly time for our second wave of hits, during the usual morning rush.

Sirius, Sruthi, Marlene, and Harriet were right after me. Only, apparently Sirius hadn't read the zine earlier this morning like the rest of us had, and he went totally off-script.

"What the fuck is this rubbish, Longbottom?" he stormed. I could hear his voice ringing from our alcove just off the Great Hall.

Frank's voice wasn't nearly as clear, but whatever he'd said didn't seem to appease Sirius.

"That's not fucking good enough!" I heard Sirius shout.

I exchanged worried glances with James, who put up a finger to tell us to wait.

Sirius's voice carried down the Entrance Hall. "I want to see this Rookwood. In fact, I want to see the whole fucking writing staff. Where the fuck is Snivellus?"

"James," I started, feeling panicked, but he shook his head.

The morning rush to the Great Hall should have started by now, but no one had made it near the doors.

"What do you mean on whose authority, Mulciber? On mine!" Sirius was screaming his voice hoarse.

"James," I said again. "It's time to send in reinforcements."

Marlene coughed. "I think it's more a job for the Head Boy and Head Girl, don't you think?"

I frowned. "But we need to be able to get to the presses on the third-floor corridor."

James took my hand. "It's alright, we'll manage." He turned back to the rest of the group. "The next wave starts in sixty seconds. Start counting." He pulled me out of our alcove and through the Entrance Hall to Frank's newsstand next to the grand staircase.

A large crowd of at least thirty students had gathered around Sirius, Frank, and Mulciber as Sirius ranted on and on for ages about how he had every right as a student of Hogwarts to speak to any other students in attendance, especially if he had a problem with them.

Though we had made off with quite a number of copies of the zine, there remained a rather sizeable stack on the newsstand.

"What seems to be the problem here, Longbottom?" called James's voice as he assumed his authoritative Head Boy posture and cadence.

Frank's face flashed with relief, but Sirius turned around and answered before him.

"These  _invertebrates_  are selling this bullshit propaganda to young, susceptible minds!" he cried, holding up the cover story for James to see.

"We're not actually allowed to  _sell_ —" Mulciber began.

Sirius whipped around and roared, "Shut the  _fuck up_ , Mulciber!"

James placed one hand soothingly on Sirius's shoulder. "Mate, it's alright." Then, in hushed tones, "We're taking care of it, remember?"

Sirius relaxed, but only by the smallest increment. "First-years could read this, Prongs! First-years!" He seemed desperate. "And if first-years could read it, then—then—"

James nodded. "He won't see it, Padfoot. I promise. We'll get this sorted straightaway."

Oh, I thought, and it suddenly dawned on me that Sirius wasn't overreacting or overselling or being dramatic. He was worried about his younger brother.

Sirius's eyes, so passionate and bright, shone with gratitude and resolve. He turned to the masses and said, "This is what propaganda looks like, everyone. Boycott  _The Hogwarts Post_!"

My eyes widened. That was the exact opposite of what we needed to do! We needed Frank to run out of copies, force Rookwood to perform an unauthorized Duplicating Charm, catch him in the act, and get him suspended from  _The Hogwarts Post_ , or shut it down completely.

But Sirius had apparently lit a fire with the morning rush crowd, their appetites for political activity whetted. They cheered, starting a rallying call of "Hatred's what we hate the most! Boycott  _The Hogwarts Post_!"

Phase I was simple enough, in theory. Until a wild card goes and changes the whole plan to a boycott.

Jen elbowed her way through the crowd to me, out of breath as always, and gasped, "Lily, you need—a—petition."

"Are you seriously trying to draw up legal documents right now?" I asked her. She should have been in Ravenclaw.

She nodded. "This way, you don't even need to try to catch Rookwood on the  _off-chance_  that he'll do something technically illegal."

"What's a petition going to do?" I asked.

"LOVE AND AMITY, WE BOAST! BOYCOTT  _THE HOGWARTS POST_!" screamed a student in my ear, so I couldn't hear Jen's reply.

"WHAT?!" I shouted.

She rolled her eyes and produced a parchment from her bag, then scribbled something at the top.

Sirius started leading a march of students around the Entrance Hall as they chanted, "Where is Rookwood? Where is Rookwood?"

James had put up a Shield Charm around Frank and Mulciber, an unfortunate precaution due to this turn of events. I could feel his magic prickling at my skin.

Sruthi appeared suddenly at my side. "You didn't tell me," she said.

Bewildered, I glanced down at her. She was trembling.

"Sruthi—what? Are you alright?"

Her eyes glazed over, her Nordic goddess ancestor apparently paying a visit. "Dorcas Meadowes," she said, her voice gravelly. She shook herself again, and blinked until her bright green irises reappeared. "You didn't tell me about you and James," she said, as though nothing had happened.

"Oh!" I felt suddenly flustered, remembering my promise to update Sruthi on my progress re: James. "Well, you were right about us, it turns out."

She smiled. "I know."

"Hang on—just now, you went all, er…"

"Sorry about that. Your question, you know. Sometimes the answers evolve and Freyja  _has_  to pass it along." She rolled her eyes as though having access to a goddess was a minor inconvenience.

I frowned. "Does she give you answers to exam questions, too?"

She burst out laughing. "I'm not allowed to ask. Besides, it'd be rather obvious I was cheating when my eyes roll back and I start talking out loud."

"Good point," I said.

Jen finished scribbling whatever she'd scribbled on the parchment and shoved it at me. "Petition!" I'd barely glanced at it before a passing Sirius Black snatched it out of my hands and yelled, "PETITION!" The protesters cheered in triumph, calls of "Petition!" resounding throughout the chambers of the Hall. Remus rushed in with the rest of the Second Wavers and joined Sirius's march, passing around the petition.

James sidled up next to me and grinned. "Well, that went sideways."

"Leave it to Sirius," piped up Sruthi, and we both laughed.

Sirius frowned over at us as he passed us again, and he pulled a giggling Sruthi into his march, circling the newsstand.

Sirius yelled, "Hate and bigotry are toast!"

Sruthi immediately joined the response calls of, "BOYCOTT  _THE HOGWARTS POST_!"

I vaguely wondered how many other slogans Sirius could get to rhyme with "post," before James slipped his hand in mine. "This feels better, doesn't it?" he asked, bouncing our hands together slightly. "Out in the open, much more straightforward."

"Much more Gryffindor," I said, a sly grin spreading my lips.

"Exactly." Then, "I put up a Shield Charm around Longbottom and Mulciber."

I nodded. "Good of you."

He chuckled sheepishly. "It's not just because I'm Head Boy and it's my duty, although, that's part of it."

"What are your duties as Head Boy, anyway?" I smirked.

He grinned back at me, his eyes glimmering with mischief. "Probably putting a stop to this—to Sirius."

"Probably," I agreed, smirking. "But this is more important than our badges. You know, despite the commotion, I reckon we can still pull off a second wave."

James nodded discreetly over my shoulder, and I turned to see Peter, shuffling inconspicuously towards our alcove with a stack of zines under his arm.

"Good old Pettigrew," I said.

"He's a pal," said James, puffing his chest rather proudly. He'd be an idiot not to be proud of the strong, indispensable friendships he'd made over his years at Hogwarts, I supposed. "Now, you and I, Ms. Head Girl, must quietly take the rest of Frank's zines before any sixth year Slytherins appear."

Before Regulus Black appears, he meant.

Only, I didn't say so. It seemed like something I should ask Sirius about. Instead I squared my shoulders, and said, "You say you're fetching McGonagall, and I'll stay here to keep an eye on them. Then we can switch or something."

He nodded curtly. "Clever. Simple. Plausible." He grinned and tickled my side. "Good."

Laughing, I squirmed out of his reach and positioned myself firmly in front of the newsstand, which was being circled by chanting crowds of upwards of fifty students by now.

"SHOW ME WHAT DEMOCRACY LOOKS LIKE!" called Sirius, and the crowd answered with a roaring, "THIS IS WHAT DEMOCRACY LOOKS LIKE!"

Sirius and Remus shot me identical conspiratorial winks as they passed me by, and I realized that perhaps they had merely gotten to Phase II: Create a Diversion earlier than we had planned.

Unless you had memorized the way he walked like I had, you wouldn't know it to look at him that James had stuffed untold numbers of zines up his shirt and was hunched over slightly to hide the fact. "I'm going to fetch McGonagall," he called a little loudly over the cries of "ROOKWOOD'S SPINNING FALSEHOODS! ROOKWOOD HAS NO MANHOOD!"

I could tell he was struggling not to laugh at that. Then, he was off.

I itched to join the growing number of protestors in the Entrance Hall. If any professors had heard them, they were doing a brilliant job of ignoring their racket.

Just as Peter reappeared from wherever he'd gone to hide his stolen stack of zines, a disgruntled group of students met with the protestors in a fantastic clash. They were led, of course, by Bellatrix Black.

"GET ME A CASTRATOR FOR THIS BLOOD-TRAITOR!" she spat in Sirius's face. Mulciber immediately flocked to her side. The group of students behind her, which consisted mainly of the  _Post_ 's newest writing staff and her blood supremacist friends, began chanting, "Censorship is bigotry! Tolerance is fallacy!"

However, the infamous Augustus Rookwood was mysteriously absent. I noticed that Severus was among those chanting, "Tolerance is fallacy!" and watched as he swept through the crowd toward the newsstand, toward me.

I sucked in a breath, readying myself for a confrontation. But he barely looked at me as he picked up a copy, opened it to the page of his rubbish article, and held it up in the air.

"Censorship  _is_  bigotry!" he yelled against the roars of the clashing students. "That's the whole point of this—so you'll understand! We have a right to our beliefs, too!"

"Yeah, well you and your beliefs can  _shove it_ , mate," yelled a voice I recognized as Marlene's. A loud cacophony of agreement followed.

"We have the right to our freedom of speech," snarled Bellatrix. "We can print whatever we want. It's not  _hurting you_."

Sirius laughed. "You  _are_  right about that," said Sirius. "You can say whatever you want. That's your right. You can't get sent to Azkaban for printing this  _trash_. But that doesn't mean we can't call you out for spewing your bigoted nonsense, either."

"Censorship is bigotry!" cried someone behind Bellatrix.

"Tolerance is fallacy!" answered Severus's voice.

Remus smiled. "I think we've come to an impasse."

"It doesn't matter. More people agree with us than you think!" said Bellatrix, sneering, dragging her eyes like acid over Remus's figure.

"Censorship is silence! Censorship is violence!" called another voice.

I was gobsmacked, because yes, censorship was not okay, but that wasn't the issue. It was much more complex than that.

"Classic deflection," I muttered, and it might have gone unnoticed, except I swear Bellatrix Black has a radar for conflict.

Her head snapped in my direction, and a wicked smile curled at her lips. "Well, if it isn't our Head Girl."

I raised an eyebrow. "Can I help you?" I deadpanned.

Her smile deepened. "I'm surprised to see you just  _standing there_ , Head Girl. Apathetic, are we?"

"Not at all," I retorted, jutting out my jaw. "I'm just trying to keep the peace."

She laughed. "You call  _this_  peace?" She gestured dramatically to the protesters, who were currently yelling, "Where's Rookwood?" at the equally disgruntled writing staff. "They're  _rioting_."

I rolled my eyes, my gut clenching at the way she warped reality. "It's a protest, Black. You've said  _your_  piece, and now they're saying theirs. That's how dialogues work, you know."

"Censorship is bigotry," she said in a sing-song voice, staring me in the eye in challenge.

She was going to make me say it, that the counter-protest's claim of censorship was merely deflecting from the incitement to  _violence_  against Muggles and Muggleborns. She was going to make me get involved, to prove that I had something to lose if this latest issue of  _The Hogwarts Post_  was allowed to go into wide circulation. And if I did, it would derail our plan before it even had a chance to fail properly.

"Why don't you focus on keeping your staff out of trouble?" I said, attempting to diffuse the situation and get her attention off of me.

"Tolerance is fallacy!" she called again, her voice louder.

Her staff heard her, and began shouting, "Censorship is silence! Censorship is violence!"

I didn't correct her, every argument against their fanciful protests dying on my tongue like sacrificial lambs.

Bellatrix's smile grew to loathsome and ugly widths, devouring her face in a wall of smugly curled lips. She thought she'd done me in, rendered me speechless and incapable of debate. Her eyes trained on me, she returned to her cronies, cries of their protests on her tongue.

In mild panic, I bit down on my lip to keep from shouting after her, even though my heart had been hammering, the rush of adrenaline pulsing through my fingertips, urging me to  _say something!_  But, it wouldn't be worth it to implicate myself before we had a chance to run the sting operation part of our little guerilla attack.

_And what if we don't get that chance?_ I thought to myself skeptically. I shook my head—now was not the time for self-doubt! I took in a deep breath and focused on the task at hand. Any moment now, someone from Bellatrix's camp would notice they were down to the last copies and perform a forbidden Duplicate Charm.

As more students descended down the staircases, Frank tried to promote the newest edition of  _The Hogwarts Post_ , but his voice was drowned out by the chants of the protest and the counter-protest.

I wasn't the only one who noticed. Severus ran up to the newsstand and grabbed the last stack of  _The Post_. "Longbottom, where are the rest?" he drawled, his black eyes narrowing coldly.

Frank shrugged. "They're gone. Do you think we need more?"

Severus's eyes landed on mine, and I quickly looked away. His expression was murderous. He turned to Frank and said, "Yes, I think we do. Why don't you go to the presses and make some?"

"But who'll mind the stand?" Frank sounded unreasonably panicked, and I tried not to growl in frustration.

It seemed Severus might be onto us.

"Why would you need to mind a stand that doesn't have anything on it?" Severus responded coolly. "Clearly, the logic of these bigots has rubbed off on you."

Before I could say anything, like, "Clearly, you are so far gone you can't even see that  _you're_  the bigot," or "Fuck off, Severus," Frank  _laughed_.

He just  _laughed_.

I watched him curiously as he just totally lost it. I wondered if the pressure of playing double agent had got to him and he needed a release.

Severus was not amused, however, and sneering, he sighed through his nose before turning on his heel, and made his way up the Grand Staircase. " _The Hogwarts Post_ ," he said, shoving it at a fourth-year Hufflepuff. "Read it. It's good for you."

He continued in this way as he went upstairs, forcing copies of the zine at unsuspecting students, presumably to make his way to the third-floor corridors and Duplicate the last copy with an unauthorized charm.

Just as I was wondering where in Salazar's soggy trousers James had got off to, he returned to my side with a pull on my elbow.

"Is he going where I think he's going?" he said, a glint of triumph in his hazel eyes.

I turned to James, grimacing. "I think so, and I think you should stay here."

He cocked his head to the side, his eyes searching mine. "Are you certain?"

If James found Severus doing this charm, it would only serve to break their truce and heighten their enmity.

I nodded, swallowing thickly. I had to do this on my own, and James seemed to understand. "Wish me luck?"

James grinned, and gestured vaguely at the two groups of protesters before us. "Only if you return the kindness," he said, and he squeezed my hand as I made my way toward the stairs, after Severus.

It was time for Phase III: The Sting.

I didn't understand why I was so anxious. I'd given plenty of people detention before, taken away house points in Bellatrix Black's face, even had to write Mary a demerit for having Firewhiskey in her trunk. But this—having to "catch" and punish Severus of all people over this  _Hogwarts Post_  business—I wasn't prepared for this.

The grey stones seemed more imposing than usual as I practically swept across them in pursuit of my former best mate. My hands lingered on the banister, the stone cold and smooth, even though thousands of students had to have brushed their fingers over the same place throughout the hundreds of years; the lack of wear in the stone must be part of the magic inherent to the castle.

I caught up with Severus easily, though managed to keep a careful distance. He practically burst into the  _Post's_  headquarters, the wooden door banging against the wall in a great clattering of thuds.

I held my breath and waited around the corner, wondering how I was supposed to know when Severus was actually making Duplicates.

And, just as I was inching toward the open door, I heard a voice that was definitely not Sev's.

"They're fucking  _what_?" said a gruff, very irate voice.

"They're protesting the newest edition, calling for a boycott. And asking for you, incidentally," explained Severus. He must be talking to Rookwood!

Rookwood scoffed. "And what do you want  _me_  to do about it?"

"Well,  _you_  are the editor in chief, Rookwood. We're out of copies, by the way."

"Then we must be doing better than you think. It's not even morning rush yet."

I suppressed the urge to snort.

Severus sighed. "That's the thing, though, Rookwood. No one's in the Great Hall. Everyone's busy marching around the Entrance Hall. I suspect some of the protestors have got rid of copies to keep the other students from reading what we've written."

"That's foul play!"

I bit my lip. Was it foul play? I supposed from their point of view, we were being unfair, and it occurred to me that without context, this would have been another way I would have been poisoned against James's anti-pureblood supremacy tactics.

"So, will you do it?" asked Severus.

"You know the presses are stuck," Rookwood answered. "I haven't been able to get them working again."

Bless Frank for using an Industrial Sticking Charm on the presses!

"There are other options, Rookwood," said Severus.

Rookwood didn't answer for so long that I wondered if perhaps I should stick my head through the doorway to see if he was Duplicating Sev's copy.

"Kettleburn's not around," he said finally.

I could hear Severus smile as he answered, "We really need your help."

Of  _course_ Sev wouldn't sully his own hands with an unauthorized Duplicate Charm. Of  _course_  he would try to get the Hufflepuff to do it.

And of course, he'd lead me straight to it.

I wrapped my hand around the wand in my robe's pocket idly, thinking I was definitely at a disadvantage, not being able to see what was going on the room.

"Close the door, then," came Rookwood's voice, and I panicked briefly at the approaching footsteps, sliding along the wall towards the end of the corridor, until I remembered that I was, in fact, a witch.

I cast a Disillusionment Charm on myself and stepped into the room, just before Sev slammed the door shut.

The room was of average size for Hogwarts, an old, disused classroom-turned-printing press. Clippings plastered the walls, and photographs hanged from the ceiling in some kind of stasis charm, similar to the one charming the candles in the Great Hall. Impressive. The magical presses took up nearly the entire back wall, looking to be about from the Tudor era. I wondered exactly how much it was that magic had improved it to the point that they hadn't updated the whole thing to modern Muggle presses.

I supposed that was all to do with the timing of the International Statute of Secrecy and everything. All the Muggle technological fixtures of the castle simply stopped progressing alongside Muggle technology for lack of contact.

And now we're nearly at war over how much  _better_  it would be if Muggles went extinct? Pah!

These idiot blood supremacists wouldn't even have the technology to print their hateful propaganda if it hadn't been for the impetus of Muggle invention.

_And_  to top it all off—they're going to practically  _illegal_  lengths to print a thing about how bad Muggles and Muggleborns are, which they could have avoided simply by using  _modern Muggle technology_.

The circles of irrationality completely boggled my mind as I surveyed the rest of room. Opposite the door was a line of thick-glassed windows, probably overlooking the southern courtyard. The desks had been joined in groups of four to form parchment-covered tables around the room. To my immediate right, Rookwood sat at the only desk that might have once been that of a professor's. He was not as nasty and mean as I'd pictured him. It had been a long while since I'd had the opportunity to look at him.

He looked like any other student, with a fresh face and tired posture holding up his school robes—not some big bad monster intent on polluting young minds with hate and prejudice.

Severus stood over him, proffering the last legitimate copy of  _The Hogwarts Post_.

"Get on with it, Rookwood. We're running out of time."

"I promised Longbottom we wouldn't do this anymore," Rookwood replied, but he lifted his wand, anyway.

Suddenly, almost imperceptibly, Severus glanced over his shoulder and  _right at me_ , the corners of his mouth turning up in a small smile.

He knew I was there.

He may have seen me before I'd cast the Disillusionment Charm—or, he'd known all along. A cold chill erupted along my spine.

What could he possibly have to gain if I caught Rookwood performing an unauthorized Duplicate Charm?

I didn't have much time to think it through, however.

" _Geminioso_ ," muttered Rookwood, and the copy of the  _Post_  began multiplying several times nearly immediately. The spell he'd cast was a derivative of the original Duplicate Charm, but its effects were much more impressive. I could understand why using the Charm would be easier than getting the monster printing press to start.

I pressed my wand to my temple and sighed. "You shouldn't have done that, Rookwood."

Rookwood jumped, and immediately Vanished the duplicates he'd made.

"And you  _definitely_  shouldn't have done that," I added, walking up to the desk. He hadn't stopped his earlier enchantment, and the duplicates continued to appear, swallowing his desk in seconds.

Rookwood frowned. "How did you get in here?" he asked.

"The better question might be  _when_. I walked through the door, same as you." I waved my wand in the direction of the original zine, ending the enchantment.

Rookwood turned a glare on Severus. " _You_  brought her in here! You set me up!"

Severus lifted one eyebrow in condescension. "Careful."

"Oh don't play  _innocent,_  Snape. You've been eyeing my job since you started! And now you've set up the perfect opportunity, even got your little Mudblood girlfriend to sack me!"

"I didn't force you to do anything," Severus answered coldly.

I noticed he didn't bother denying anything else.

Slytherins, honestly.

"You were practically  _begging_  me to do the charm! You could have done it yourself, but you wanted  _me_  to do it!" said Rookwood.

"You have the most experience with it," said Sev, crossing his arms over his chest.

"Oh, don't try and  _flatter_ me!" Rookwood turned to me. "You heard him egging me on, didn't you?"

He looked so tired.

I nodded.

"See? Even the Mudblood agrees, Snape!" he spat.

… And he called me a Mudblood. Twice.

"Rookwood, fifty points from your house. You'll be serving detention for a month, and your Head of House is definitely going to hear about this. And if you call me  _that word_  one more time, I'll see to it that the Headmaster sees you as well."

Rookwood sneered, and threw a glare at Severus. "ARGH!" he screamed, sending all the Duplicates of the zine into the air in one, angry sweep of his hand across his desk.

Severus gave a brief chuckle as Rookwood continued his temper tantrum.

"And twenty points from Slytherin," I added.

Severus rolled his eyes.

"You'll be serving detention with Rookwood for two weeks," I continued. "And don't think you've got away with murder and will be able to take over Rookwood's position because of your little stunt, Sev. Slughorn will be getting a nice report about this incident as well."

A scowl marred his otherwise expressionless face.

I walked out of the room, wondering how the hell I was supposed to keep Severus from becoming the new editor in chief. Surely, James would know?

"Give my regards to Potter," Severus's voice called after me, and it took everything I had in me not to flinch.

* * *

I returned to the Entrance Hall to find Sirius Black leading a sit-in of about two hundred students. Professors McGonagall and Dumbledore were attempting to talk him out of it.

"Mr. Black! For Merlin's sake, you've made your point—now, get to class!" Professor McGonagall said, her jaw trembling with worry.

Sirius stared at her for a moment in consideration. Then, he took a huge breath and yelled, "WHAT DO WE WANT?"

The students replied, "JUSTICE!"

"WHEN DO WE WANT IT?" called Sirius.

"NOW!" they answered.

McGonagall pursed her lips, though I recognized the slight squaring of her shoulders in pride.

I walked toward my Head of House and the Headmaster uncertainly. "Professors," I said. "I think I have some information that might help."

I told them about Rookwood, Snape, and the Duplicate Charm.

McGonagall immediately called over Professors Kettleburn and Slughorn, who had been trying, apparently unsuccessfully, to convince some of the younger students to go to their classes. They both practically ran upstairs toward the press room, Kettleburn limping slightly due to his peg leg.

"Professor Dumbledore," I addressed the Headmaster. "I hope you'll consider allowing the students to continue writing for  _The Hogwarts Post_  and other zines. I'd hate for this to result in any  _actual_  censorship." I stared disdainfully at Bellatrix and her writing staff, who had all gathered behind the newsstand, chanting "CENSORSHIP IS SILENCE! CENSORSHIP IS VIOLENCE!" Frank Longbottom, I was pleased to see, was sitting just a few feet away next to Peter Pettigrew.

"Ms. Evans," started our Headmaster kindly. "I would never wish to impede upon the expression of any student, as long as said expressions remain entirely harmless to others." He smiled. "I suspect it may be time for our staff to address the reality of our political situation."

Suddenly, James appeared at my side. "Would that be … appropriate?" he asked, gazing intensely at Dumbledore.

The corner of our Headmaster's eyes crinkled, and I had a feeling they were talking about something else entirely. "I believe—and I'm certain you will agree, Mr. Potter—that it is important to defend against prejudice and bigotry. That is the sort of work that is always appropriate."

James nodded, but continued to stare at our Professor in earnest. "Have you—have you considered—?"

"It's on the agenda for our next meeting, Mr. Potter," answered Dumbledore mysteriously. "Ah, Professor Kettleburn!" He smiled at us and swept away to the Hufflepuff Head of House.

I tilted my head curiously at James, but I'd have to ask him about  _that_  particular exchange later.

Rookwood trailed behind Professor Kettleburn in the same tired posture he'd had in the press room, only his face was marred with an expression of shame and defeat. Dumbledore and Kettleburn engaged in an intense, hushed conversation, Dumbledore nodded, and he amplified his voice to get the attention of the room.

"Augustus Rookwood," he announced, and before he could get any more words out, Sirius interrupted him.

"PETITION!" he roared at an impressive volume, comparable to Dumbledore's  _Sonorused_  voice. He waved a three-foot length of parchment in the air like a battle flag, and yelled, "WHAT DO WE WANT?!"

"JUSTICE!" came a chorus of voices scattered across the hall.

"WHEN DO WE WANT IT?" continued Sirius.

"NOW!"

Dumbledore Summoned Sirius's petition and skimmed over what looked to be about three hundred signatures.

Impressive.

After a moment, the headmaster cleared his throat and looked up, addressing the editor in chief of  _The Hogwarts Post_. "Augustus Rookwood, our Head Girl found you casting a Duplicate Charm without the supervision of your Head of House or other professor. Due to the severity of such an infraction, she recommends a fifty point deduction from your house as well as a month's worth of detention."

Brilliant. Now all of Hufflepuff House will be after me along with all the students who were stood around the newsstand next to Bellatrix Black, actively booing me.

"It's her word against his!" Black screeched. "You haven't got any proof!"

"No proof! No proof! No proof!" she and her group chanted.

And then, as if by some miracle, Sev approached Professor Dumbledore. "I witnessed Rookwood perform the charm, Sir," he said blankly.

Bellatrix Black looked as though she were trying very hard not to appear shocked. She folder her arms across her chest, one eyebrow hooking upwards.

The headmaster nodded. "Mr. Snape—"

"Mr. Snape provoked the incident, Professor," I felt compelled to say. "He only saw it happen because he encouraged Rookwood to cast the charm in the first place."

"HER WORD AGAINST HIS!" yelled Black, more forcefully this time.

"We were out of copies," said Sev, and he shot me a cold glance. "I suspect some students were unhappy with the contents of our latest issue and  _stole_  them before they could go into circulation and allow the populace to make up their own minds."

I opened my mouth to deny the claim—when did I ever get so comfortable with  _lying_?—but James interrupted me.

"I confiscated them," James said, stepping forward, and glaring at Snape. Apparently, James was not averse to the truth at all. I supposed I could learn a few things yet from our beloved Head Boy. "The so-called  _contents_  of the issue were questionable, bordering on incitement to violence against Muggle-borns, Sir, and I saw it was my duty to confiscate them  _before_  they made their regular circulation."

Dumbledore gave James a look that very plainly said they would be having a chat about that later, and then cleared his throat softly once more. "Mr. Snape, our Head Girl recommended two weeks of detention for you. She also recommended that both you and Mr. Rookwood take your leave from  _The Hogwarts Post_." He waved his wrist delicately at the petition in his hand. "Certainly, the student body has made its opinions on your latest issue very clear and is opposed to the  _Post_  continuing in its current direction."

Snape narrowed his eyes. "That petition is hardly a show of  _majority opinion_ , Professor. I don't believe half the students in this castle have anything to say about  _The Hogwarts Post_  at all!"

Bellatrix and her supporters all voiced general agreement.

Encouraged, Snape continued, "Furthermore, this—this  _resistance_  to a  _balanced_  perspective on certain matters is  _exactly_  what we are speaking up against in  _The Post!_ "

Dumbledore smiled kindly at him, which I believed he had no reason to do at all, and said, "I will leave the question of your involvement in the student zine to the discretion of the  _Post_ 's faculty advisor, Professor Kettleburn, but as for your two weeks of detention, I have no qualms with Ms. Evans's recommendations."

Sirius let out a loud whoop in celebration. "SHOW ME WHAT DEMOCRACY LOOKS LIKE!" he shouted.

And, the inevitable reply, "THIS IS WHAT DEMOCRACY LOOKS LIKE!"

As I tried very hard not to show on my face the absolute flood of relief that washed over me at having half-accomplished our mission without getting hexed or otherwise, Bellatrix practically bared her teeth at me when I chanced a glance her way.

Dumbledore ended the Sonorus Charm on his voice and gazed inscrutably at James. "I do not doubt your reasons for interfering with the  _Post_ , Mr. Potter, but I  _do_  question whether you acted alone this morning, considering such widespread"—he gestured about vaguely—"participation. A more dubious wizard would suspect it was the result of serious coordination, certainly the sort of  _team_  effort one would expect from two athletic captains." His gaze landed on me, and I felt my cheeks flush.

"Er," I said dumbly. I reached up to touch my Head Girl pin self-consciously. I'd miss it terribly.

James sucked the insides of his cheeks.

Mum had been so proud when I'd showed her my pin. I wondered briefly what I'd say to her when I wrote home about losing it.  _I was involved in a guerilla-style rebellion to do with some student newspaper, Mum, so the Headmaster took away my Head Girl title, but don't worry! I stood up for my beliefs!_

I'd have to work on that.

Dumbledore's eyes twinkled. "It would be very impressive. However, it is not easy to ignore Mr. Black's predilection for drama, after all, nor should I underestimate the moral fiber of my students, who will rise to action for a good cause." His smile was gentle as he watched Sirius enthusiastically shake the hand of every single student that had stayed behind for the sit-in that morning. "It is time I trusted them with the truth."

* * *

 Professor McGonagall had us all crammed into her Gryffindor office on the seventh floor—James, Peter, Jen, Sirius, Remus, Marlene, Mary, Frank, Sruthi, the rest of the Gryffindor Quidditch team, a few others, and me.

Sitting behind her desk, she stared at us over her glasses rather severely for a few moments, her lips pursing as she regarded us thoughtfully. Then, she inhaled sharply, as if making up her mind, and thrust one hand into a drawer, where it rummaged blindly for a few moments, before pulling out a nondescript tin.

"Sneaking around stealing things and setting traps is  _not_  how we handle things in my house, understood?" she said, her gaze piercing and forbidding as it flitted from one face to the next.

I sucked in a breath, because  _she knew_. Of  _course_  she knew! They probably all knew. We weren't nearly as sneaky and clever as we thought.

We nodded. "Yes, Professor," we muttered meekly.

"If there is something going awry in this castle, then you will report it to me, and let me handle it. Understood?"

"Yes, Professor," we chorused.

"Good," she said, and she shoved the tin at us, which had popped open to reveal several rows of shortbread. "Now, have a biscuit. You've missed breakfast."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Thank you for reading, lovelies! And thank you for your patience as I continue to write this at a snail's pace, haha. As always, I appreciate any and all feedback, so if you're enjoying the story, have something you'd like to see more/less of in the next chapter, please let me know! :) You're already wonderful for giving this story a chance.


	18. He hasn't got any hands, Potter.

That weekend's edition of  _The Daily Prophet_  had caught on to the goings-on at Hogwarts, and a reporter by the name of Elphias Doge had written something up about students standing up to pureblood supremacy through acts of civil disobedience.

Sirius cut it out of the paper and pinned it to the Student Notice Board with an extra-strength Sticking Charm so no one could pry it off, though someone did go in with red ink to write "HOGWARTS HAS GONE TO THE DOGS!" which only served to make Sirius howl with laughter whenever he thought of it (which was often).

Of course, this little blurb—as brief and casual as it was—didn't go unnoticed by its readers. Several letters to the editor made it into a special Sunday evening edition, covering reactions ranging from "proud and impressed" to "Can't Dumbledore control his students?" and, the faux-wise position of keeping politics out of school, because apparently we're all "too young and impressionable to form opinions outside of the faculty's biased beliefs!"

Thank you, Mrs. Greengrass, for that absolute load of crock. I'll be sure to say so next time Bellatrix Black threatens my life. "Sorry, Trixie, but you're much too young and impressionable to think you actually want me dead. Split a scone with me instead?"

As for things at Hogwarts, Augustus Rookwood got a month's worth of detention, his House was fifty points shorter than it had been before he'd cast his infamous Duplicate Charm, and Kettleburn had suspended him from his extracurricular activities, which included both  _The Hogwarts Post_  and Wizard's Chess Club, much to Peter's dismay.

"We've got to rewrite the entire timetable now Rookwood's out of the league," he griped the next week over breakfast.

Sirius threw him a pointed look and Peter sighed.

"Though I s'pose if it's for the cause," he said without much conviction, "it's worth it."

"Too right," said Jen with a curt nod.

Severus Snape hadn't suffered the same punishment. Professor Slughorn, partial though he is to me, is slightly more forgiving when it comes to members of his own House, especially if they show somewhat of a penchant for Potions.

The two week's worth of detention that I'd given him stuck, but that was about the size of it. Slughorn thought twenty points from Slytherin was an overreaction, and amended the amount to ten.

_Ten_.

And to top it all off, Severus was still on staff at  _The Hogwarts Post_ , and it seemed he was gunning for Rookwood's former position as editor-in-chief, though ultimately, the position was up to Professor Kettleburn at this point. He was taking applications.

Frank Longbottom refused to apply.

On Halloween, I caught up with him between classes and begged him to reconsider.

"Frank, you  _have_  to be editor-in-chief and take back  _The Hogwarts Post_!" I urged. "It's the only way to ensure your zine doesn't become a vehicle for propaganda and remain true to its mission: the truth."

Frank set his jaw. "Evans, it's just not where I belong. I need to be in the field—literally, I'm a sports writer—not behind a desk somewhere, handing out assignments and splattering red ink everywhere. It's not  _me_."

"Either way this turns out, it's going to be a sacrifice, Frank. You'll just have to choose which one is worth it."

He groaned. "We were meant to stop it from going on altogether. Any updates on the petition?"

Although we'd managed to get a good 280 signatures or so on our petition, it didn't really have much of a purpose. Jen had only managed to write, "We, the undersigned, disagree with  _The Hogwarts Post_ 's justification for pureblood supremacy" at the top of it. Not much of a call for action.

I bit my lip and grimaced. "It's proof that students were unhappy about last week's issue, but it doesn't do much good for shutting it down, sorry."

"And now Snape might be editor-in-chief." He dragged a hand down his lightly bearded face in clear agony, and muttered from behind it, "I think that's worse, honestly."

"It doesn't have to be!" I said quickly. "If you would just—"

"I can't." His baby blue eyes peered sadly at me from behind his hand. "I really can't."

I frowned pathetically. There seemed to be no way to persuade him into it. I sighed at him, and he sighed in return, and then we entered our History of Magic classroom, where, astonishingly, everyone was gasping.

Professor Binns, who was normally rather dull in both appearance and demeanor, seemed to have surpassed all interest in liveliness at all for he was at the front of the class  _floating_.

Floating!

Normally, I'd say he was at the front of the class standing meekly, or leaning slightly against his desk, but this morning, he was  _floating_.

And suddenly not so opaque.

Or colorful.

Professor Binns seemed to have passed away at some point between last week and today, because he was suddenly a  _ghost_.

A real-live fucking  _ **GHOST**_.

I sidled up to Jen, Mary, and Marlene, who were whispering furiously to each other in our usual corner of the room.

"Professor Binns!" I exclaimed under my breath.

"We know," answered Mary in an eager whisper.

"D'you think it's some kind of Halloween prank?" I asked. "Seven years in the making?"

Jen whirled on me. " _Absolutely not!_ " she whispered fiercely.

"He's not that kind of man," Mary said, shaking her head.

I frowned. "I just thought—I mean, he's really—?"

Dead.  _He's really dead._

I couldn't say it, but the girls just nodded solemnly. Mary wriggled into the space between my arm and my side and hugged me.

"Bit sad, isn't it?" said Marlene, her arm coming around our shoulders. "Bloke dies and comes back just to keep teaching us."

"Maybe it's his unfinished business," reasoned Jen, patting my back comfortingly. "He has to finish up the school year and then he'll—pass on, or something."

We all nodded at each other as though that made perfect sense, but I knew we were all inexplicably sad about it.

Then, I asked, "Do you think Professor Dumbledore knows?"

"I don't think anything happens around here without Dumbledore knowing," said Mary. Then, smiling over my shoulder, she added, "But perhaps you and the Head Boy should go confirm?"

I turned around to see James Potter enter the room with his mates and stop dead (no pun intended) in the doorway. He and Sirius exchanged shocked gapes and James immediately confronted our professor.

"Professor Binns," he said.

The transparent, floating body of our History of Magic professor turned solemnly towards James. "Mister Podmore," he nodded.

"Sorry, Sir, are you feeling alright?" he asked, to which the class erupted in a wave of sudden nervous laughter.

James turned around and shot everyone perfectly serious glares, and we all quieted down.

Professor Binns hardly blinked. "Geronimo," he began, clearly addressing James, which may have resulted in another bout of barely concealed laughter. "This is most untoward. I am not in the habit of receiving inquiries about my health from students. Unless you have any other business to discuss, please take your seat."

Good Godric. Only Professor Binns could make the most exciting thing that's ever happened to him into some boring affront to good manners, as though waking up and finding yourself turned into a ghost happened every day.

James bowed his head, respectfully. "Actually, the Head Girl and I have been summoned to speak to the Headmaster. Urgent, you see. We might miss the entire lesson."

Professor Binns managed to blink down at the gleaming Head Boy badge pinned to the front of James's robes and waved him off. "Dismissed."

James locked eyes with mine and jerked his head over to the door.

"The most exciting thing to happen in this class  _ever_  and James is forcing me to miss out," I muttered in dismay.

Professor Binns chose that moment to glide over to the front of the room and drone out, "Class, today we will be discussing the formation of the League of the Legless, a flobberworm hobbyist convention from the fifteenth century."

"Doubt it," mumbled Marlene, and she promptly dropped her head on her desk and prepared for a nap. I couldn't blame her. Not even a ghost could make that particular subject interesting.

I met James in the hallway. His eyes were alight with excitement.

"I don't believe he knows he's dead," he managed to say before we broke out into chortles of laughter.

"Poor man," I said, when the laughter finally subsided. "I suppose we're on our way to tell Dumbledore?"

"We would have heard about it by now if he knew," James said.

Very good deduction skills, that one.

He interlaced our hands as we walked toward Dumbledore's office, and I tried very hard not to lean over and kiss him just for being so exceptionally  _James Potter_.

Or Geronimo Podmore.

I sniggered slightly, and James threw me an amused look.

"Go on and share, then," he said.

I smirked mischievously up at him. "Sure thing,  _Geronimo Podmore_."

He rolled his eyes, chuckling. "I wasn't joking about that. It's been seven years of it."

"I wonder I hadn't noticed before?"

"Probably because you and McKinnon usually nod off during class and get your notes from Till afterwards."

I bumped his shoulder. "Watching me nap all this time? Bit creepy."

He bumped me back. "Sometimes, you drool."

Scandalized, I gasped. "I do not!"

He laughed. "Don't worry! It's cute!"

"Oh my Godric, shut  _up_!" My eyes went as wide as saucers.

I was beyond embarrassed at this revelation. I'd been drooling in  _public_  for  _seven years_  and nobody thought it was worth mentioning until this very moment?!

James immediately turned me in his arms so that we were facing each other. He looked down at me, his eyes smiling, looking so goddamned charming I would have stared at him dreamily if it weren't for the imminent embarrassment I felt heating my skin.

"No one's ever said," I started meekly, blushing at the thought of drooling with saliva down my chin for all my peers to see, year after year in our most hellish of classes. "I've been  _drooling_  this whole time? Merlin, who else saw?"

James rubbed circles reassuringly along my sides, tempting a tickle. "I may or may not have cast a few Scourging Charms on you before you woke up," he admitted. "I know I should have asked first, but I didn't want to embarrass you any further, you know, like  _now_ —"

Sod it. I kissed him in the middle of the hallway, in the middle of his heroic admission. The boy had been silently casting cleansing charms on my drooling nap-face for years to save me from embarrassment; I could express a little gratitude.

He wrapped his arms tightly around me, and deepened the kiss, snogging me as though it was all that mattered in the world. My fingers tugged on the soft locks of hair at the nape of his neck, and he smiled against my mouth in response. We were suddenly a haze of lips, tongue, and touch, my heart beating at a hundred miles a second. I was lost in the feel, taste, and scent of him, clenching a fist into his robe as his tongue swept over mine.

The sound of a slamming door and approaching footsteps abruptly broke us apart, but it was very clear we wanted to do nothing of the sort. We righted ourselves as much as we could as a passing fifth-year Ravenclaw boy smirked at us on his way to the loo.

As soon as he was out of sight, James drew me flush against him and pulled the most extraordinary sound of surprise out of my mouth as he kissed me with renewed fervor.

"James," I said, between kisses. "Dumbledore—Professor Binns."

"I know," replied James, trailing kisses along my cheek and jaw. His breath was warm against my skin. He laid a final, sweet kiss on my lips and stepped back, placing his glasses upon his nose. "But regrets are for the ghostly, you know." He smirked dashingly and took my hand, leading me to the headmaster's office. I was quite flushed.

We arrived at the stone gargoyle that guarded the entrance to Dumbledore's office, and I gave the password: "Fizzing whizbees." Reluctantly, we traipsed up the stairs chatting away about whether or not they'd keep on a ghost professor.

"It'd be economical, of course," contended James. "One less salary to pay."

"Not necessarily. I assume he'd need an assistant."

James turned to me. "What for?"

I levelled him with a smirk and a stare. "He hasn't got any hands, Potter, and as far as I can tell he isn't a poltergeist, either. How would he mark our assignments?"

"That is quite the conundrum, Evans. Quite the conundrum indeed." He winked at me and then opened the door to the headmaster's office.

Dumbledore sat at his desk, sunlight pouring in through the windows and catching on the various metallic instruments about the room.

Without any great ceremony, James announced that we had some very dreary news.

Dumbledore rose from his desk and plucked up a plain black wizard's hat from a shelf. "Then, it is as I feared."

I frowned. "You feared Professor Binns would become a ghost?"

The headmaster, at least, had the grace to look surprised. "I feared our professor would not last the year. I never dreamed he would simply leave his corporeal form for another and remain within these walls."

James cleared his throat. "But you knew he would pass?"

Dumbledore lay the black wizard's hat back upon his shelf. "It was merely a suspicion. One can never  _know_  these things, you see."

"Of course," I answered, though I wasn't sure why I'd bothered to say that. It's not like I completely understood his meaning. Nothing about this conversation felt particularly comprehensible.

The headmaster set his light blue eyes upon us, and I swore they  _twinkled_. "Thank you for letting me know. I will make the proper arrangements, according to the circumstances. It seems a deathday party is in order. Please await further instructions on this most important of events."

Before I could say, "What the bleedin' hell is a  _deathday party?!_ " James had nodded and pulled me out of the room. I didn't even remember climbing down all the stairs.

"Geronimo," I said, once my brain was back in working order. "What in Merlin's name is a deathday party?"

James sent me a look short of rolling his eyes, but didn't comment on the "Geronimo" business. "Seven years a Gryffindor, and you've never been visited by a woeful Sir Nicholas?"

I blinked. "The House ghost? The nearly headless one?"

"Yes, that one."

"No, never."

James clicked his tongue. "Consider yourself lucky."

"I thought he wasn't so fond of me."

James shrugged. "Might not be."

I shoved him.

He grinned, then asked, "Do you think Dumbledore means we're to plan a  _deathday_  party?"

It was my turn to shrug. "I don't even know what that is—is it like a birthday for a ghost or something?"

"Or something. Sir Nicholas invited the lads and me to his deathday party in second year. His four-hundred and eightieth anniversary. It was a rather macabre affair." He ruffled his hair with one hand, his brows pulling into a pensive frown. "Always the talk of  _how_  one died. Not exactly the warmest of festivities."

"No, I can't imagine it would be," I answered, wondering what in the world it was like for ghosts to come together at a party, commemorating their  _deaths_. "How very peculiar a thing to celebrate."

"I suppose it's stranger still to celebrate one's birthday. We don't even remember those."

We'd reached the History of Magic floor.

"I suppose it's best left forgotten, considering," I replied. "Although, I am strongly in favor of any occasion that affords me a slice of cake. Just so you know."

James laughed. "Oh, I know. Your birthdays have always been an affair to remember."

"If you can't remember the first few ones, the rest of them should make up for it, don't you think?"

He laughed and leaned over to kiss my cheek. "I  _think_  it's time we rejoin our classmates and learn about the League of the Legless."

I groaned in protest. "As much as I  _love_  history of magic…" I wrinkled my nose in distaste.

"Come on," he coaxed with a smile, and he pulled open the door to the classroom, slipping inside and pulling me behind him.

* * *

At lunchtime, the entire Great Hall was abuzz with news of Hogwarts' newest resident ghost.

"What's happened? Peter says you were all there!" exclaimed Sruthi, sliding in beside Sirius and stealing a few chips off his plate.

He flipped his hair behind a shoulder dramatically. "We were, Sruthi."

She tapped his forearm impatiently. "And? Is it true what they're saying about Professor Binns?"

The corners of Sirius's lips barely turned upwards as he braced himself to say with great solemnity, "It's true, Sruthi." He took her hands in his and stared deeply into her wide eyes. "He gave up the ghost."

Sruthi groaned at his awful pun, slipping her hands out of his grasp in disdain. "I can't even blame you for that disgusting display of worldplay. I completely set myself up."

Remus, dipping a slice of bread into his beef stew, said, "Do you know—I think being a ghost rather suits our late professor."

Sirius snorted. "I don't know how, but he got even  _more_  boring as a ghost."

"Like I said," answered Remus. "It suits him."

Sirius leaned over and kissed the corner of his mouth. "You're adorable."

Remus blushed, and ducked his head a bit, unwilling to meet anyone's gaze, adoring or otherwise.

Sruthi giggled and said, "Why thank you, I've always thought so."

Sirius gave her a friendly ruffling of the hair and kissed the top of her head.

Mary sighed woefully a few seats away, and I realized perhaps her feelings for Remus hadn't disappeared as quickly as she might have liked them to.

And out of a habit of tactlessness, Marlene said  _very loudly_ , "On the bright side, your competition was Sirius Black, so really, it's nothing to do with you, Mary, love."

Needless to say, Mary spent the rest of lunch a very bright shade of pink.

James and I got an owl to say that we were henceforth excused from Operation Fire Dragon that afternoon in order to help the headmaster and head teachers organize Professor Binns's deathday party for that evening.

"I've literally never dreamt of this day," I muttered to James, as we dug through the back stores of food in the kitchens, searching for rotting and spoiled meals. Apparently, ghosts could only  _almost_  taste food if it's gone off. I understood now why the headmaster delegated this particularly nasty chore to us, the meager head students.

"House elf magic is certainly remarkable, isn't it?" wondered James, turning a perfectly red apple in his hand. "Just perfect."

"Perfectly  _exploited_ , I think you mean," I answered sharply.

James tutted. "Oi, I'm not  _condoning_  the enslavement of house elves, of course. I only meant—"

"I know, I know. House elf magic  _is_  extraordinary, which seems to be rather unfortunate for us at this moment." I looked around at the perfectly preserved food around us in the large pantry. It was about the size of the entire market at Hogsmeade. "James, there's nothing rotting in here. I can't even catch a whiff of wilting greens anywhere, or an off potato."

James stuffed his hands in his pockets. I could tell he'd much rather be out on his broom on the pitch than stuck inside, looking for decaying food. "There might be something in Slughorn's potions stores?" he suggested, though without much hope.

I shook my head. "Probably not."

He slumped forward.

"Al _though_ ," I began, a brilliant idea coming to me rather suddenly. "We might be able to persuade our potions professor to hand over a vial or two of the Draught of the Living Dead."

"Lily, I know this is probably the worst extracurricular activity we've ever had to manage, but I hardly think  _offing yourself_  is the answer. Besides, it'd be awfully rude to upstage Professor Binns."

I shoved him lightly. "Oh, shut it, you ponce. I meant that we can dilute the potion and add a few drops to some food, and speed up the decaying rate. It should work, but we might have to do a bit of trial and error. Also, if we're wrong, the only people trying it are already dead, anyway."

"Morbid, much?" James asked, a single eyebrow raising in (very attractive) judgment.

Rolling my eyes, I tugged on his hand. "Let's go!"

* * *

The deathday party was an eerie affair. Dumbledore had announced at our annual Halloween feast that we were all invited to welcome Hogwarts' newest ghost in residence that evening in an impromptu ceremony.

"Bit too on the nose that, isn't it?" Peter had said. "Having a deathday party on Halloween?"

James had grinned. "Poor sod missed the feast, though. I think if it were me, I would have waited until after the feast to give up the ghost, as it were."

To which Sirius had sniggered, "Still gold."

I supposed if there were any good time to use that expression, this day had been it.

Any student interested in the goings-on of afterlife limbo returned to the Great Hall an hour after dinner to find it devoid of tables, with a platform at the front of the hall, and a swirling congregation of ghosts, both Hogwarts's residents and others, circling the room. There were enough seats for every student lined up in three columns, all made of iron to keep us safe from any wayward or belligerent spirits.

The food that James and I had managed to rot with a bit of Draught of the Living Dead was piled up behind the platform on an ornately decorated table, and encased in a bit of magic to keep the smell away from the living.

A large set of crystal goblets, glass saws, and a glass xylophone sat upon the platform, where they were spelled to play a most horrendous cacophony of high-pitched, ethereal "music." It had many students covering their ears and pulling faces. The ghosts seemed to like it, however, as quite a number of them had paired off to dance near the ceiling.

Professor Dumbledore stood behind an iron podium himself, bedecked in a glittering black robe and matching wizard's hat. The heads of houses lined up behind him in similar black and shining robes, perhaps to both mourn the death of their colleague and also welcome his ghost to Hogwarts. A gloomy-looking Professor Binns floated near Dumbledore, giving wary glances at the iron podium.

I sat between Jen and Mary in the fourth row of the center column. James and his mates sat in front of us.

Marlene, on Mary's other side, leaned over her and declared, "I would have thought they'd gotten the toad choir to do a number or something." She grimaced as the glass saw screeched loudly, the sound echoing monstrously off the vaulted ceiling. "I never thought I'd say it, but I miss it."

"Anything's better than this racket, Marls," Mary agreed loudly, having pulled her hands over her ears.

"At least we can't smell whatever putrid rubbish the ghosts are feasting on," Jen chimed in, eyeing the rotting food at the back of the hall with barely disguised revulsion.

"I'm never going to joke about haunting anyone when I die again," I muttered. "I just want to die naturally. None of this ghost business for me!"

"Hear, hear," approved Sirius, turning around to flash us all a brilliant, catlike grin.

"Does one even get to decide?" mused Peter, turning towards us as well.

At that, both Remus and James turned around to join in the conversation. Remus opened his mouth to respond, but was cut off by an ear-splitting crystal goblet solo clashing with the sounds of a grating saw.

The entire student audience seemed to groan as one in response.

"Your soul gets to decide," Remus finally explained. "So even if you're the least bit desperate to hang on to your life, you could forego moving on for eternal ghostdom."

"No thank you," said James. "I want to either be alive or not. No in-betweens."

"I wonder why anyone wouldn't want to just—you know— _die_ ," wondered Mary. "I mean, once one dies, that should be it, right?"

Marlene shoved her slightly and Mary shoved into me. I sent a glare in her direction and helped right Mary, but Marlene ignored it all and said, "That's what happens when you live life and play it safe. You end up with buckets of regret."

"That's why we live life to the fullest, lads!" exclaimed Sirius, reaching his arm around Remus to pull James in and clapping Peter on the back with the other.

I was reminded of James's earlier pronouncement: Regrets are for the ghostly.

The boys all cheered despite the mild discomfort of Sirius's vicelike grip over their bodies.

I smirked, and said wryly, "Ah, of course. Now all of your mayhem makes sense! It was just an anti-ghost campaign, all these years."

"Got it in one, Evans," replied James with a smile, his eyes laughing.

We'd been dating a full month and he could still make me turn into Lily Evans, Girl Balloon.

Just then, Dumbledore turned toward the glass symphony of horrors in the corner and gradually silenced it. The waltzing ghosts bowed to each other and then clapped politely, slowly drifting down toward the floor.

He faced us, Amplified his voice, and began a short speech detailing the life and service of one, Professor Cuthbert Binns. He'd been born near Tintagel in Cornwall, sparking a lifetime fascination with the Arthurian legends, and sending him on a scholarly mission to document Merlin's preference for placing jam on his scones  _first_  and  _then_  clotted cream instead of double whipped cream, causing great scandal.

Although, the true scandal there is that anyone would put the cream on a scone before the jam? Doesn't the jam get all drippy? It needs  _traction_ , for Merlin's  _actual_  sake!

And because Professor Binns is simply  _fascinated_  by all things boring and hair-pulling, he wrote a book about Merlin changing the face of Cream Teas forever. Except he never published it.

"And it shall remain unpublished," Dumbledore said, as though it were a great feat, "until such a time as Mister Binns is prepared to leave existence in this plane and embark on the beyond."

Professor Binns bowed his head in what appeared to be gratitude.

"His unfinished business," whispered Jen, and we all turned to her and nodded solemnly in understanding.

A Ministry official in ivory robes from the Spirit Division walked onto the stage holding a tall, magicked candle with a burgundy flame. She presented the candle to Professor Binns, and he floated through it ceremonially, the flame flickering from burgundy to bottle green and back again. She shivered as his cold, disembodied form passed through her as well.

"You have been officially registered with the Ministry, Mister Binns," she said, and faced the students. "You are all witnesses, please rise."

We rose in an unorganized fashion, some of the younger students having fallen asleep and needing to be woken.

"Mister Cuthbert Binns," said the Ministry official. "We welcome you to your preferred residence, Hogwarts, and wish you a ghostly stay."

Professor Binns made to give some sort of speech, but Dumbledore thanked him after a minute of his droning, and asked him if he'd like to resume his duties as the professor of History of Magic. Even though he had no hands.

"I would be most honored, Headmaster," he answered.

Sirius, probably delirious with exhaustion, shouted, "Cheers, mate!" inciting a wave of laughter and clapping.

I continued to wonder about the no-hands thing, but decided I'd leave that to the Headmaster, joining in with the clapping around me.

Dumbledore smiled at us and ended the ceremony with a "Congratulations, Cuthbert, and congratulations, Hogwarts!"

We clapped politely, as it seemed the thing to do, and the Marauders and a few other lighthearted mischief makers cheered and whistled. Dumbledore dismissed us shortly afterwards, and we were only too happy to leave, as he'd started up the glass symphony again.

"I think I'm going to write to the Ministry and recommend that they provide earmuffs for future ghost registration deathday ceremonies," commented Jen, sticking her fingers in her ears.

"WHAT?!" screamed Marlene, and we all laughed, pushing our way out of the Great Hall.

James, however, grabbed my hand and pulled me back into the hall.

I turned to him, brows knitting together. "Did Dumbledore ask us to help strike the place, or something?"

He grinned and spun me into his side. "No, I just thought we'd take the opportunity to practice some wizarding dances."

I laughed against his chest. "You're mad. This music is  _dreadful_."

With a wave of his wand, he cast a Silencing Charm around us, and the awful screeching of the glass symphony faded away to a low din. "Problem solved."

I giggled and pressed a kiss to his warm cheek. "Clever swot."

He spun me out again, and placed one of my hands on his shoulder, slipped his hand into mine, and secured his other arm at my waist, leading me through a few bars of a waltz.

"You know, I think Muggles have this dance as well," I said, amused.

He chuckled, and pulled me closer, settling his cheek against mine. "I know. The wizarding version is a bit more complex." He nudged his nose against my cheek and led my gaze to the ceiling, where ghost couples were waltzing, yes, but with a lift every other measure on the third beat.

"Blimey," I said, watching as one particular ghostly man in a giant Elizabethan collar lifted his partner so high, he flew right through the ceiling.

"Don't worry, Evans," quipped James, settling both hands on my waist and lifting me in time with the ghosts above us, "I've got you."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Awww, aren't they just so sweet? Anyway, I've always wanted to write about the day Professor Binns became a ghost, so here's that! I dearly appreciate all of your support and feedback. Thank you, everyone, so much for reading! More Hippogriff next chapter. Stay tuned!


	19. You're All Mad

Bertha Jorkins was completely no-nonsense. She'd organized a timetable for our matches and pinned it to a noticeboard outside the Hippogriff pitch. The first match scheduled was a pre-cup scrimmage at the end of term. We wouldn't begin league games until after winter hols, and in the meantime, all eight teams would be training hard.

The first real match was scheduled for the third Saturday in January, giving us about two weeks to get back into shape after the holiday.

Just the thought of  _that_  particular week back was enough to set me on edge for the whole of November.

I ran my practices as efficiently as I could so that Abed and I had built up enough stamina to keep steady averages in our mock races. The Prewett brothers kept us lighthearted and pulled the occasional prank, and Caradoc continued to scratch his head at Harriet's ability to beat him at every single race, no matter how fast he was going. Jen kept track of our practices, happy to take notes from the stands.

During one particularly grueling night, when I was basking in the chill November air around me, I received an owl.

Folded into a bright red envelope was a message from the Head Boy.

> _Heads' Office ASAP! Need to ask a favor._
> 
> _-J_

I frowned, wondering what sort of favor required an emergency owl.

"Alright, chums, pack it in!" I called to my teammates.

One by one, my players flew down before me, dismounting gracefully, bright-eyed, and covered in a sheen of sweat.

"Early night, Captain?" quipped Gideon, grinning sunnily. "Don't tell me you've gone soft on us."

I raised an eyebrow, but couldn't help the slight tilt at the corners of my lips. "You already owe me three laps for spelling rabbit ears onto your brother's arse, Gids. Don't push it."

"Aww, but Fabian didn't mind, did ya, Fae?" Gideon and Fabian flashed me identical grins. "Besides,  _you_  laughed!" he added as Fabian scratched his bottom absentmindedly.

"That's beside the point. But no; unfortunately, it's emergency Head duties for me. Just got an owl."

Jen tapped me on the shoulder. "I can watch them the rest of practice and fill you in later, Lil. You go on ahead."

"Marvelous plan!" piped in Caradoc. "I think I've nearly understood the properties of Harriet's Cushioning Charm! Might be just the thing!"

Harriet rolled her eyes. "How many times have I got to tell you, Doc? It's not the broom!" She mounted her broom and took off. "It's the flyer!"

"She's got a point there, Doc," said Abed shyly.

The Doc stroked his chin thoughtfully. "But she didn't beat me on a Cleansweep."

"Might be psychological," added Jen. "Perhaps she just felt out of sorts on the other broom and it affected her flying."

Harriet dismounted and fixed me with a wary stare. "Captain, put me out of my misery."

"Alright. Switch brooms with the Doc. That should settle things once and for all." I turned to my besty matey. "Jen, I want a controlled experiment, control for variables, and a thorough report on your findings. If this thing with the Head Boy doesn't take up too much time, I might be back before practice is officially over!"

Jen nodded and the rest of my team saluted mock-solemnly as I dashed off to the front doors of the castle on my broomstick (which is technically not allowed, but I didn't have any time to waste). I Transfigured the broomstick into a book and clasped it in my hands as I ran up the steps, through the doors, and all the way to the Heads' office.

I had barely broken a sweat, and though my heart was racing, I wasn't keeling over to breathe like I might have done just a few months ago before all this Operation Fire Dragon training.

Not that I would  _ever_  admit that aloud.

Nonetheless, I was still quite sweaty from practice and cast a light Scourging Charm on myself just outside the door. It was the polite thing to do.

I walked into the office to find James pacing the width of the room, a long parchment spread out over the table behind him.

"James?" I asked.

I seemed to have pulled him from somewhere far away, because he stumbled in surprise, a hand going to his chest.

"Lily!" he said, as soon as he recovered. "You made it!"

I walked over to him. His brows were drawn together in a heavy crease. "What's wrong?"

He dropped his gaze and worried at his bottom lip, frowning. "Tonight's the full moon and I accidentally—I forgot. I signed up for rounds."

"Oh, so I'll cover for you." That wasn't such a big deal; I didn't understand why he'd called me out of practice for  _this_  of all things. He could have waited. When he  _still_  wouldn't look at me, however, I realized there must be something else going on. I took one of his shaking hands in mine. "James, what's wrong?"

"Er," he hesitated, and blinked back at the parchment laid out on the table. "I'm really sorry to drag you into this, Lily, but Sniv—I mean  _Snape_ 's the only other prefect available tonight." He turned back to give me a sheepish look. "I've been poring over everyone's timetables for hours trying to find literally  _anyone_  else to do the job, but it looks like it's just the two of you..."

"Oh," I said, my face falling in spite of myself.

"Yeah," he said, looking forlorn and miserable. "I know it's a terrible thing to ask you. I shouldn't have asked at all. D'you know—forget I said anything. Sorry for pulling you out of practice. I'll just be late to meet the lads. They can manage without me for a few hours."

"James." I slid both my hands up his arms to his shoulders, and smiled with satisfaction as his arms automatically slipped around my waist. "It's alright. I can manage with Sev for a few hours. Go. Be with Remus."

He frowned down at me, uncertain. "Lily, you don't have to do this. I'm saying I can handle it."

"And I'm saying I don't mind, honestly."

"Are you sure?"

I looked him straight in the eyes. "Positive."

His body relaxed and he pressed a kiss to my temple in gratitude. "You're the best girlfriend a bloke could ever ask for."

I grinned. "Well, I'm glad you know."

He smirked. "Snape'll probably try to goad you into admitting Moony's a werewolf, especially since he'll figure it's why I've left my rounds to you tonight."

I wrapped my arms around him and pulled his warm body against mine in a comfortable hug. "Good thing my Jelly Legs Jinx is in top form, then."

His laugh shook me pleasantly and I smiled up at him. "Not exactly the best example to set as a Head Girl," he said in a low voice, pulling away slightly.

"I just rode my broomstick here, so I've got a streak to maintain."

James laughed again, his fingers tangling with the ends of my hair. "I expect this level of understanding from you the next time I've jinxed Longbottom's head into a pumpkin."

I rolled my eyes. "Dream on, Potter."

He grinned. "As you wish, Evans."

Reluctantly, I disentangled myself from him, still smiling. "I should head back to practice."

James interlaced our fingers. "I'll walk you out. I'm headed in that direction myself." He waved his wand over the parchment on the table, which folded itself neatly and filed itself away.

Just as we were leaving, I remembered my Transfigured broom and ran back inside to clutch it to my chest gratefully. James fixed me with a puzzled stare.

"Studying while running practice? That's a bit of a stretch, even for you, Lily Evans."

I grinned conspiratorially at him. " _No_ , James." I held the book out to him to read the cover.

"' _Cleansweep 1977_.' Is it a manual? That doesn't exactly disprove my point."

I pretended to swat him with the book and tutted. "It's my  _broom_!"

He gaped. "Let me see that!" he said, and snatched the book from my hands. He flipped through it. "Holy Hufflepuff." He adjusted his glasses and read quickly down the pages.

"What?" I asked, lowering his arms so that I could sneak a peek. The book was covered in arithmancy problems and ancient runes. I turned wide eyes on him. "Is that what I think it is?"

"How did we not think of this before?" he asked in awe. "This is like—the code for all the charms and spells and magical materials that go into making a Cleansweep." He flipped to the back of the book, where the pages were blank, then flipped back through to examine the pages and pages of alchemical equations. "It just sort of stops three quarters of the way through, though. Bet Transfiguring objects into books is a common way to try and replicate products and the Cleansweep makers have put a block on the entire recipe."

"Still, it could be useful," I murmured, my finger stopping beside what appeared to be a Cushioning Charm equation. "My teammates are trying to figure out whether or not it's the Cushioning Charm on a broom that makes it easier to fly or if it's just the skills inherent to a flyer."

James hummed a sound that seemed to communicate he was impressed with such an endeavor. "Yeah, this could be helpful." Though his tone didn't exactly inspire much confidence. "Doubt it, but maybe."

"Right," I said, shutting the book closed and taking his hand in mine. "Well, if I recall, you promised me a walk to the pitch."

He leaned down and kissed my temple again. "That I did."

As we walked down the grounds toward the Hippogriff pitch and the edge of the Forbidden Forest, James regaled me with tales of some of his past adventures as Prongs, his (unregistered) animagus form.

"Well, as you can imagine, you get very thirsty in your animagus form, but you can sniff out the nearest source of water. Now, because Peter's a rat, he mostly has to hitch a ride on either Sirius or me. He can't keep up otherwise."

I glanced up at the twilit sky. "Does this mean you also  _see_  like a stag, then? Do you see different colors?"

James gave me a sidelong glance. "It's hard to say.  _Yes,_  my perception is a bit different, but it's still me under it all."

"Is it like being in a submarine?" I asked.

"A what?"

"Oh," I said. I'd forgotten. I explained to him what a Muggle submarine was, and after grimacing through their exact  _purpose_ , he shook his head.

"No, it's not like I'm trying to control a metal ship, or like wearing an exoskeleton that isn't mine, because it  _is_  me, but different. Like—have you ever had a part of your body Transfigured before?"

I cocked my head to the side, thinking back. "Yes! Last year, was it? Mary thought she was being funny, adding the transformation suffix to any animal she could think up in Latin. She Transfigured my legs into dragon legs for a whole minute and a half before she stopped freaking out long enough to change me back."

He positively cracked up. "Oh, I wish I could have seen that!"

"Prat," I answered, poking him in the side. It only made him laugh harder. "I remember feeling very cold as a dragon. I tried to jump into the fireplace, just before Mary figured out the counterspell."

James nodded, grinning. "I sometimes end up eating so much grass for hours on end if I—turn—on an empty stomach. I once Transfigured back and upchucked a whole twig.  _Not_  pleasant."

"Yeah, that's vile," I agreed. "What happens to your clothes?" I felt a blush creep up my cheeks. "I mean, I imagine when you Transfigure back, you have to find them before you can sneak back up to the castle."

"Well, the lads and I do try to keep track of our clothing, but I can't say we've never trudged back up totally starkers before."

I tried to keep  _that_  particular image out of my head.

James. Totally starkers.

Except then I thought of the lot of them running up starkers—James, Sirius, Peter—and I burst into laughter. "You're all mad."

James shrugged, a smile pulling at his lips. "Eh, we survive."

"Just  _bare_ ly," and then I lost it because I'd said a pun—a very bad pun—and James rolled his eyes in mock-disgust.

We'd approached the noticeboard outside of the pitch, and James's quick gaze took it all in. "Your scrimmage is on the same day as my match against Slytherin."

"What?" I said, smartly, the humor leaving my body in one sudden bolt.

He pointed to the date Bertha Jorkins had written on the very official notice. "Here, see? The 9th of December." He fished around his pockets and pulled out a neatly folded parchment. With an agile flick of the wrist, he'd opened up the page to a very meticulous timetable. "It updates magically, according to whose won which matches, but it's been written in there for at least two weeks."

"Well, what time's your match? Surely, they won't overlap."

My eyes flicked over to the noticeboard. Our scrimmage was set for two o'clock in the afternoon.

"You know our matches are always at ten in the morning. But I reckon you'll want to get your team warmed up before the scrimmage."

"I'm not going to miss your match, James."

"I'm saying, I'd understand if you had to."

His eyes were smiling at me beneath his glasses and I knew he wasn't just trying to be a good boyfriend. He genuinely meant it. I was filled with a sudden warmth that caused me to shiver in the cold air.

"I appreciate that," I said, finally. I reached up on tiptoe to brush our lips together. His arms snaked around my waist and he lifted me up slightly, pulling me against him as he kissed me deeply. I practically melted against him, my own hands going up to cup his face, and run my fingers through his thick, jet-black hair.

Finally, he pulled away, and set me back down. I bit my lip shyly, because there was nothing more I wanted to do than to kiss James Potter for the next thousand tomorrows of my life.

He cleared his throat and flashed me a smile, tucking a loose lock of my hair behind my ear. "And  _I_  appreciate  _that_."

"Tosser."

James grinned and he leaned down to kiss my cheek softly. "I'll see you in the morning, love."

My heart fluttered at the nickname, which was ridiculous because all sorts of people had called me "love" before, but the way James said it, the way his eyes sparkled with mischief, the way his voice seemed to caress the word as it made its way to me—it made me light and warm and giddy and  _full_. My heart was full. Full of James and his intoxicating kisses, his ridiculous stories, his generosity, his attention, his smiling eyes.

He practically disappeared into the darkness, and I practically floated into the pitch, my hand going up to my cheek to feel exactly where James had kissed it.

* * *

"Okay, that's something," oohed Jen, rummaging through my Transfigured  _Cleansweep 1977_  book once I'd explained to her what I'd done. The rest of the team were spread about the pitch, collecting beaters' bats and Stunning bludgers out of the air.

"What about the experiment?" I asked her, eyeing the clipboard she'd tucked under her arm.

"It was rubbish," called a nearby Fabian.

I turned an exasperated glare at him. "Oi, I can just as easily spell those rabbit ears back on, you know."

He grinned. "I wouldn't say no, but you'd have to buy me dinner first, Cap."

"Cheeky," I shot back, my eyes narrowing. "Careful there."

Harriet jogged over to me, a beater's bat in hand. "Ah, don't mind Fae, Cap. Though, I've noticed he listens best when there's a beater's bat in my hand."

Fabian stuck his tongue out at her and she laughed at him.

Harriet turned back to me. "But unfortunately, the cheeky bastard's right. The whole thing was a total waste."

I groaned. "What happened?"

Jen pursed her lips, but didn't answer, and flipped through another page of the book.

Caradoc ambled up behind Harriet, his wand pointing up at a Levitated Bludger. He fixed his bright orange glasses on his nose and adjusted his for-practice-only headband onto his locs. "We rode on each other's brooms, like you said, Captain, only I was worse on Seabury's and she was terrible on mine."

"So it's not the broom  _or_  the flyer," I concluded.

The Doc shrugged. "Seems that way." His eyes landed on Jen and his eyes brightened with curiosity. "What's that?"

Jen tapped the book with her wand, which Transfigured back into my Cleansweep for a moment, then Transfigured it back into the book. Without a word, she shoved it at a gaping and impressed Caradoc.

He handed his wand to Harriet, who wordlessly accepted it to peer over his shoulder as he perused the book. He thumbed through it like a maniac until he found whatever it was he was looking for.

"Aha!" he exclaimed, tapping the page furiously with his fingers. "We're all wrong!"

Abed silently Levitated Caradoc's Stunned bludger into a storage trunk, then Spelled it shut while Harriet returned the Doc's wand to his front robe's pocket. By now, the Prewett twins had both gathered around, eager to understand what exactly was going on. I was trying not to burst with pride at how naturally they all worked together. Like a real team!

"How do you mean?" I asked when Caradoc failed to elaborate.

"The last quarter of the book is blank!" he said excitedly.

Jen stared at him. "Yeah, and?"

"Isn't it an infringement block?" I pressed.

Caradoc nodded. "Could be, could be."

I frowned at Jen, who appeared more annoyed than ever.

"But—?" coaxed Jen through gritted teeth.

Caradoc smiled at her, his expression going suddenly goofy. "Well, I could be wrong again, but maybe— _maybe_ … Seabury, may I see your broom? For research."

Harriet let out the most suffering groan in the history of groans and Summoned her broom from the edge of the pitch. "Doc, I'm gonna skin you alive _for_   _research_  if nothing comes of this."

That particular threat didn't seem to bother Caradoc, as he ever so gently tapped Harriet's broomstick and Transfigured it into a book.

Harriet gasped and immediately smacked Caradoc. "Oi! What have you done, you great loon?"

He shrugged her off and flipped instead to the end of the book. He looked up at us and grinned.

"Oh my Godric," breathed Jen.

"Merlin's left elbow!" I exclaimed.

Gideon snorted.

I ignored him and leaned over Caradoc's discovery. The pages weren't blank. They were running over with magical signatures— _Harriet's_  magical signature.

"Oh, sweet Salazar," I said. "It's  _both_. The broom  _and_  the flyer. If we own our own brooms, then somehow, our magical signatures are automatically locked into the broom's magic."

"And just as I suspected, the Cushioning Charm is also affected," added Caradoc. "In the school's broom, we get the standard arithmancy formula for an industrial strength Cushioning Charm. But Harriet's—look."

I grabbed the book and read over where he'd pointed. Within the arithmancy formula were added characters, which would likely solve to Harriet's magical signature. "It conforms specifically to her magic!"

Jen frowned. "I thought the only thing that affected an industrial strength Cushioning Charm on brooms was a target-detection charm?"

Caradoc nodded. "Until you add personalized magic. Nice what money can buy."

I frowned. "It seems so unfair, don't you think? And anyway, how does a broom know if you own it or not? Does a shopkeeper add the signature to the broom's magic?"

Harriet cleared her throat. "I can ask my mam. She's the one that got it for me two years ago."

Caradoc nodded enthusiastically. "Please!"

"Alright. Now, change it back, please," Harriet ordered, and Caradoc obliged, tapping his wand against the hard spine of the book and handing over Harriet's broom. "Thank you and please don't ever do that again."

"Well team," I said, looking up at everyone. "Seems we might be on to something!"

Jen smirked, and I spotted a bit of interest hiding behind the exasperated look she threw in Caradoc's direction.

Hmm…

* * *

By the time we'd gotten up to the castle, after a rousing sing-through of Queen's "Bohemian Rhapsody," it was nearly time for my rounds. I didn't have time to bathe properly before I met Severus, so after a quick change into school robes and another Cleansing Charm, I bounded to the Entrance Hall, where it was customary to meet one's partner for prefect rounds.

Severus arrived at exactly ten o'clock, his face impassive, eyes distant, shoulders cold. He nodded at me exactly once, apparently having understood that I was taking over for James, and immediately set off for the staircases without a word.

I rolled my eyes so hard I nearly detached a retina. I mean, would it have killed him to say hello?

I followed behind him, annoyed.

We worked our way through the first and second floors silently, Severus checking his wristwatch every so often as though he couldn't wait to get this over with and do literally anything else. We were just going up to the third floor when the staircases shifted, and we ended up in the east wing of the fifth floor instead.

"Bugger," I muttered. The last thing I wanted was for these rounds to go on any longer than absolutely necessary.

Severus gave me a sidelong glance, but I wasn't entirely sure what he meant by it. Impassive bother that he was and everything.

It was then that I absentmindedly began humming the opening piano lines to "Bohemian Rhapsody." I was more than shocked to discover Severus humming along after a few measures.

As soon as I grinned at him, however, he seemed to have noticed what he'd been doing, and stopped altogether, walking ahead a few paces so I couldn't see his face.

"My team and I were just singing that," I said softly, hoping to assuage his obvious embarrassment. "And now it's stuck in my head."

Severus nodded, but didn't say anything for several long moments. Instead, he checked his wristwatch again.

Just when I was about to sigh as we looked into another empty corridor, he actually started to make conversation. "Your Hippogriff team?"

"Yeah," I answered. "The Millennium Falcons."

He stiffened a little, his back going ramrod straight. "That's what you've called yourselves?" he scoffed.

"Yes. What's your team called?"

Severus slowed down a little so that I caught up to him and could see his face. His ever-impassive face, the one with absolutely no way in, made of ice and agony.

I'd cast a Warming Charm on his face if I thought it would help.

He gave me a wary look and answered, "The Twenty-Eights."

"The Twenty-Eights?" I repeated, bewildered. "The twenty-eight what?"

He shrugged. "Emperors of the Sky."

"Huh." I played with the hem of my sleeve. "I suppose that's rather fitting, for a Hippogriff team."

He nodded sharply and turned back towards the staircases, skipping the hidden corridor behind a nearby tapestry.

"Wait, we've got to look through there," I said.

"It's not on our route." He checked his wristwatch again and pursed his lips.

"It's not on  _anyone's_  route. Our routes are outdated. But we all know this corridor exists, so we have to check it."

He clenched his jaw, but followed me through the tapestry anyway. He sent a jet of light down the length of the corridor, which revealed an empty passage. He raised an eyebrow at me, and I rolled my eyes.

"Fine, we can go."

Severus led us back toward the staircases and we circled back down to the third floor. "We'd be faster if we split up," he said. "Save loads of time."

"We're not supposed to split up," I replied. Besides, if we'd suddenly split up, how could I know for sure that he'd done his fair share of our rounds? He could just as easily go back to his common room and I'd be none the wiser.

He didn't answer, but I didn't miss him glancing at his wristwatch again.

Merlin, couldn't he just suffer through this without being such a pretentious prat about it?

Floors three and four went by in complete silence, with the occasional muttered " _Lumos!_ " as we checked dark corners for any rule-breaking students. And because Severus wouldn't stop checking his fucking watch, we skipped the fifth floor and went straight to floor six. It was here that he decided to speak again.

"The Millennium Falcons," he mumbled. "I don't get it."

"Oh, it's from  _Star Wars_ ," I explained, trying to sound as casual as possible, knowing that as soon as he realized it was a Muggle thing, he'd become far more sensitive than he was already.

" _Star Wars_?" he asked. "That idiotic Muggle film from the summer?" He sneered at the thought.

I fixed him with a challenging stare. "How d'you know it's idiotic?" I asked.

His jaw clenched again. "Because it's—it's  _Muggle_."

"So was the printing press, but that hasn't stopped you from trying to get in on the action," I countered.

He scoffed, shaking his head in disgust. "You're so blind, Lily. You always have been."

I tried not to let this uncomfortable allusion of familiarity bother me. "Blind to what?" I asked.

"Blind to the actual problem," he answered.

I turned to face him. "And what problem is that?"

"That Muggles want us  _dead_. And no amount of disco hits or stupid films or funny haircuts is going to change that. Do you really think that if they knew who you truly were, they wouldn't try to kill you?"

My whole body seized up, a wave of barely contained rage coming over me and threatening to spill above the surface. "My parents know who I truly am, and they would  _never_  try to have me  _or_ you killed," I snapped. "Or did you forget about all the summers you spent with them?"

"Well what about Tuney? If she weren't your sister, I know she'd have tried it."

My fingers itched toward my wand. "You leave Petunia out of this," I warned, my voice low. "And it's not like I couldn't defend myself, even if she did try. But she wouldn't."

"So you're saying that if she tried to kill you, you'd be okay with it?" he asked, incredulously.

"I'm  _saying_  that it wouldn't happen, and  _hypothetically_ , if it  _did_  happen, I have  _magic_!"

Severus's normally unexpressive face twitched slightly. "So you'd use magic to defend yourself against a Muggle?"

"Only if it was between that and getting murdered," I said, rolling my eyes. "But I wouldn't try to kill them  _back_. Probably just jinx them."

His nostrils flared in mild disgust. "If a Muggle tried to kill me, you can be sure I'd more than just jinx them. We should be able to use magic to put Muggles in their place, don't you think?"

"What are you talking about? What is their place? They aren't our enemy, Sev!" And suddenly, it was like fifth year all over again, because Severus's face was cracking.

His walls were crashing down in a violent scowl. "They've made us hide away! They've made us cower in fear and secrecy! And yet you'd want us to make nice with them? Mix our  _blood_  with them? They're outbreeding us by the millions while we struggle to maintain our tiny populations, which have been decimated by hundreds of years of persecution!"

I stared at him, wondering where in the world all of this 100% bullshit was coming from, and how it was that such a smart, level-headed person could believe something so obviously made-up and irrational. He was like a human propaganda machine and it was distressing to hear him spew it around like an automated puppet giving printed out fortunes at a carnival.

"Persecution?" I whispered in disbelief. "Severus, you don't even know the meaning of the word."

"Tobias Snape," he answered. "He's the only example I need."

I blinked. Tobias was Sev's completely Muggle dad, and from what I could tell, he would get physically abusive if either he or his mum did any magic. Sev had to learn how to control his magic early, or else he'd get quite the beating.

"Your dad's a bad example," I said faintly. "You can't blame all Muggles for what your dad's done, Sev."

"I don't blame Muggles," he answered coolly. "I blame witches and wizards who believe we're better off a secret. If Muggles only  _knew_  what we were capable of doing, they wouldn't dare hurt us." His black eyes brightened in sudden realization. "They'd be too frightened, and they should be."

I bit my lip, understanding the source of Sev's beliefs. "I understand. I'm sorry about your dad, Severus, truly, I am. But it doesn't do to make us more afraid of each other. Fear doesn't help anyone. It only divides us further."

"We're already divided." He laughed humorlessly. "And do you know why?"

"Whatever the reason, Muggles don't deserve to be  _murdered_  for it," I said sternly, before he could blame Muggles for killing any actual witches or wizards during the witch trials.

"Are you fucking serious? They murdered their own kind!"

I placed my hand gingerly on his arm. "Your kind.  _Our_  kind," I corrected. "Because of fear."

He snatched his arm out of my grasp and gave me a deadly glare that seemed to want to pierce right through my very being and tear it to shreds. " _Fuck_  you, Lily."

His robes billowed behind him as he stormed down the corridor. I knew better than to follow him, and it's not like I could have if I'd wanted to follow him, anyway. I felt stuck in place, the shock and horror of our conversation rolling around my head in unending waves of confusion and incredulity.

He hated himself.

His father.

Muggles.

Me.

* * *

I got to bed later than usual after my blowout with Severus. We couldn't even talk about the most mundane of things without it getting political or personal or polarized.

I knew we couldn't be friends anymore, but at this point, any question of civility was Disapparating quicker than a Chudley Cannons keeper. Severus wasn't the only Slytherin on my mind, however.

I'd handed out exactly one detention that night, shortly after Severus had parted my company. Regulus Black had overheard our argument, and I could barely get the words out.

"Out after curfew. That's detention."

His grey eyes, so much like Sirius's, blinked widely, and he'd nodded, long black hair falling elegantly over his handsome face. They looked so much alike, it was almost painful thinking about their estrangement.

But Regulus hadn't tried to get out of detention, and he went directly towards his common room. He hadn't insulted me, or sneered, either. I wondered vaguely what he'd thought about my conversation with Severus, if he'd heard enough, if he had any opinions about anything we'd argued over at all.

The full moon shone brightly through the north-facing window, and my thoughts drifted from Regulus and Sirius to Sirius and Remus, Peter, and James. I wondered what they all did together. I vaguely imagined an intelligent-faced rat sitting between the giant antlers of a stag, a large black dog trotting happily alongside, its great pink tongue lolling out of its mouth, and a weary-eyed wolf leading his mismatched pack through the moonlit forest.

"How do they even talk to each other?" I murmured to myself as I closed the hangings of my four-poster shut, and crawled beneath my red and gold tartan quilt.

I vaguely registered making a mental note to ask James before my head hit the pillow and I fell fast asleep.

* * *

A loud rustling woke me up far too soon for my liking, followed by a series of murmurs, and a sudden glow of dull early morning light hitting me right in the face. I burrowed under my blanket in protest, but someone pulled it up and then let it fall.

"He's not there," said a voice. "I don't know  _how_  he'd ever get up here, but he's most definitely not here. Would you mind telling Black, Sruthi?"

"Sure, Marley," answered another, higher-pitched voice.

From this short conversation, I deduced that Marlene and Sruthi had been the ones responsible for my unceremonious awakening.

"What's going on?" I asked, bleary-eyed and frowning.

The blurry vision of Marlene in a silk hair-wrap and dressing gown swam into focus. Beside her stood an alarmed Sruthi.

"It's the Captain," Marlene said. "Black's looking for him."

My frown deepened. "And—and he sent you to my  _bed?!_ "

"Well, you  _are_  his girlfriend," pointed out Sruthi.

"Yes, but—" I blushed profusely. "Never mind. Where's Sirius?"

Marlene smirked. "He said he was on his way to the Hospital Wing. Wasn't feeling well, or something."

I immediately shot up out of bed. If Sirius didn't know where James was, then something must have happened to separate them last night.

"Do you want to send a message?" asked Sruthi. "I'm on my way to see him."

"Oh," I said, slipping my shoes on over my sleep socks. "I might just go see him myself, so you don't need to go at all."

Sruthi cocked her head. "You sure?" she said, and yawned hugely. "Because I wouldn't mind getting back to bed."

After I assured Sruthi that I was more than willing to trudge all the way to the Hospital Wing to meet Sirius at this ungodly hour, she crawled into my bed and pulled the hangings closed.

Meanwhile, Marlene had unwrapped her curls from her hair wrap and changed into sweatpants and trainers. "Got to stay in shape! It's all about discipline!" she exclaimed, and then took off through the portrait hole.

She was too committed for my own tastes, and I suddenly didn't mind so much that she was Galadriel and I was a Shire hobbit. I preferred plenty of breakfasts, anyway.

The Hospital Wing was dark, all the curtains still closed. At the far end of the vast room, behind a screen, I heard low murmuring. I approached the bed as quickly as I could, and was not disappointed to find Sirius cuddled up next to Remus on a hospital bed.

Remus's head lay on Sirius's shoulder, and Sirius was staring down fondly at his weary face, two dark circles pressed like violets under his amber eyes.

"Lily," he said, his voice ghostly.

"I, erm, brought chocolate," I said, pulling out a bar of Honeyduke's finest from my dressing gown. I set it on the night table beside him.

He smiled. "Thank you."

"Prongs send you out here all alone, did he?" asked Sirius, pouting.

"No, he didn't," I answered, frowning as I surveyed the room. "Where's Peter?"

"In the dorms, sleeping," he answered casually. Then, he looked up and rolled his eyes. "The wanker."

I snorted. "And when was the last time you saw James?"

"After dinner," Sirius said, his hands playing with Remus's hair. "In the common room."

I gasped. "Wait, you didn't see him  _at all_  last night?"

Sirius sat up a little, concern finally wedging itself between his brows. "No. I thought he was with you—Head duties or something? I figured he couldn't get out of them."

"No, he got out of them," I said, panic beginning to quaver my voice. "Where is he?"

"Wait, so he's not actually miraculously curled up in your bed?" Sirius said, his voice becoming sharper with worry.

I shook my head vehemently.

Sirius's grey eyes snapped to mine, and narrowed slightly. "When was the last time  _you_  saw him?"

"Around half eight. He called me out of Hippogriff practice and then walked me back to the pitch. He was on his way to meet  _you_."

"Fuck." Sirius slipped out of the hospital bed, and grimaced. He glanced back to Remus and leaned over him to place a tender kiss on his forehead. "I'll be back later, love."

Remus nodded, his eyes fluttering closed.

Sirius turned to me, his expression sobering, and my heart clenched. "Prongs is missing."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AH! So sorry for the delay, folks! Thank you for reading, as always, and I hope you've enjoyed the latest installment! Any guesses as to where Prongs has disappeared?


	20. Marauder's Honor

Sirius and I ran up the stairs to the Gryffindor common room where he led me up to his dormitory, shouted, "Wormtail, code orange!" and proceeded to rummage through a trunk that had a distinct "J.F.P." emblazoned on the side. Meanwhile, I busied myself with trying not to panic and trying not to imagine James injured or dead under some godforsaken tree in the Forbidden Forest.

Luckily, Peter Pettigrew's head shot through his curtains, and he blushed considerably at the sight of me there, distracting me enough to form complete sentences.

"Morning, Peter," I said in lieu of an apology for waking him up.

"Feels more like death," he quipped.

_DEATH?!_

I bit back the dread that threatened to escape my person and fill the entire dormitory in panicked yelling, choosing instead to grimace horribly at him.

But Peter didn't seem to notice my precarious emotional state. He looked back at Sirius, muttered something about "rude awakenings," and retreated back through his hangings.

Sirius emerged from James's trunk with a triumphant shout, a blank sheet of parchment in hand. With a glance at Peter's shut up four-poster said, "Oi, Pete! I said code orange!"

"You're going to wake Sruthi," murmured Peter from within his bed.

"Sruthi's not here," snapped Sirius. "But you know what is? A CODE ORANGE!"

I frowned. "Why was Sruthi here?"

"She sleeps here now," answered Sirius without further elaboration.

"I don't remember all the codes," mumbled Peter. "What's a code orange again?"

Sirius, rather irritated, bit out, "Prongs is missing. Would you come out, please?"

Peter's head stuck through his hangings again, although he appeared much less panicked than either Sirius or I felt. "D'you check the map?"

"Prongs has the map," Sirius answered.

"Sruthi sleeps here now?" I asked. "Why?"

"Trouble with her dorm mates, apparently," Sirius said distractedly.

My frown deepened. "What sort of trouble?"

"They found out about Freyja. Weren't too keen on it. So, Sruthi sleeps here now," he explained. He tapped the parchment with his wand.

I looked around the room in confusion. "But there are only five beds?"

"Lily, we're having a  _code orange_!" Sirius barked, his neck going pink, as he threw his arms out dramatically.

Peter laughed through his curtains. "Sirius never sleeps in his own bed. Likes a cuddle."

Sirius didn't say anything, but the slight pink creeping into his cheeks was enough of an answer, and I didn't press the matter. Who would have thought that Sirius Black had the modesty to appear embarrassed at sharing a bed?

Instead, I thought of Sruthi, and the way she'd climbed into my bed without asking if it was okay. I honestly hadn't given it a second thought, just thought she'd been  _that_  tired. Sruthi was my chum, and if she felt comfortable enough to sleep in my bed, why would I stop her? But if she'd climbed into it because she couldn't go to her  _own_  dormitory, then there was something wrong.

"Well that explains why she took over my bed this morning."

"Ah, that's good! Might be nice to wake up with girls instead of a bunch of farting boys." Peter said.

"Speak for yourself," muttered Sirius.

Peter slowly climbed through his hangings, grinning hugely, and cracked his neck. "If Prongs has the map, then what's that?" he asked, pointing at the parchment in Sirius's hands.

"It's the map locator we created last year." He looked down fondly at the parchment he held almost reverently in his hands.

Peter nodded, smiling nostalgically as he trotted over to Sirius. "Right. When Filch nicked it."

"Miserable man."

"Utterly."

They were a spectacle, the pair of them. I placed my hands on my hips and cocked an eyebrow. "Right, so anyone going to tell me how that's supposed to help us find James?" I asked, trying to take control of the situation and push down all thoughts of James getting trampled by centaurs or kidnapped by hags.

Sirius and Peter looked at me, then to each other, as though silently working out whether or not I was trustworthy. Then, with a unanimous nod, they turned back to me and Peter said, "Marauders' honor."

"You've got to be joking," I deadpanned.

I mean,  _seriously?_

James could be halfway to Romania, unconscious in the boot of a vampire's wagon by now and they wanted to play  _Marauder's HONOR?!_

Sirius smirked. "But seeing as you're an  _honorary_  Marauder, dating Prongs and everything, and this happens to be an emergency—"

"A code orange, you know," Peter chimed in.

"Exactly, Monsieur," Sirius said, tipping an imaginary hat at Peter.

Peter repeated the mime and said, "Monsieur." Then he tipped his hat at  _me_ , and said, "Mademoiselle."

Sirius copied the ridiculous hat-tipping at me and also said, "Mademoiselle."

They both stared at me expectantly.

I rolled my eyes and curtsied. "Messieurs," I mumbled. As I came back up to see their matching grins, I sighed. "You're all ridiculous."

"Welcome to the club," winked Peter.

"Glad to have you with us," Sirius said. "Anyway, this map locator will tell us where the map is, which will give us a better lead on where James might be."

"Makes perfect sense now," I said sarcastically.

"I know," answered Sirius, and I couldn't tell if he was being just as sarcastic or simply couldn't read my own sarcasm. In either case, he threw some robes at Peter, who hastily climbed into them, and tapped the parchment with his wand. "The map's been nicked, please be succinct."

The parchment glowed at Sirius's words and a single word appeared on its surface. "Willow."

"Ah, good," said Peter. He pulled on a pair of trainers and made for the door.

"That means something to you, doesn't it?" I asked Sirius. "There are about a dozen willow trees on this side of the grounds alone. How do you know which one it is?"

"Oh, believe me, Evans.  _We know_." He and Peter pulled me to the common room, through the portrait hole, down the staircases, and to the entrance hall.

It wasn't until they got to the entrance doors that it occurred to me how serious this situation might be. "Shouldn't we let McGonagall know?"

"What for?" asked Peter. "Once we get the map, we'll be able to see where he is on the grounds."

I paused. "Exactly what sort of map is this?"

"The Marauders Map," answered Peter casually.

"Oh, the  _Marauders Map_ ," I repeated. " _Obviously_. Don't know how I didn't figure that one out."

Sirius glanced at me curiously. "He hasn't told you about it yet, has he?"

I shook my head.

"Well, shit." He scratched his head. "Prongs might be upset we've spoiled it for you, but on the other hand, he might be dead, so."

Peter blinked. "Might-be-dead trumps getting jinxed."

"Even so," Sirius answered, ruminating on the subject, and eyeing me with a mock-thoughtful expression.

I rolled my eyes. "Let's just find this map before you decide whether or not you can cope with breaking your Marauder code of honor or whatever."

He smiled a brilliant smile, as though having expected I'd let him off the hook. "Cheers, Evans," he said, and opened the large wooden doors, holding them aloft for Peter and I to follow through.

A heavy fog cloaked the grounds. We could barely see a few feet ahead of ourselves. I cast an extra strength " _Lumos!_ " and nothing.

"Ah, well isn't this convenient," I muttered.

Everything was covered in white. I looked all around and could barely make out the tops of the nearby trees through the all-encompassing clouds of fog. I half expected a dragon to come lumbering out of it.

Peter rolled his eyes at me. "We'll be fine once we get the map, Evans. Honestly, don't go getting your knickers in a twist over a bit of  _fog_."

I gaped, offended.

My  _knickers?!_  In a  _twist?!_

Luckily, I didn't have to jinx him, because Sirius whacked him over the head with the parchment and scolded him. "Oi! Evans is a  _nice_   _person_ , Pettigrew. She doesn't deserve that sort of language."

Peter held his hands up. "Sorry! Sorry." He looked at me and arranged his pointy features into a picture of sincerity. "Honestly, sorry. It's no excuse, but I'm still knackered."

I looked him over, his weary face, his puffy, sleep-deprived eyes more watery than usual, slumping along the dewy grounds in crumpled up robes. I bumped his shoulder. "Well, no reason to get your nappies in a twist over it," I said and smiled.

Peter and Sirius laughed, and I could have sworn I'd heard Peter whisper, "She's alright."

Sirius led us along a path that cut across the grounds at a downward slope towards an area with which I was unfamiliar, having very good reason to avoid it. "Erm, Sirius," I started, uncertainly. "I'm fairly certain we should probably go another way."

"No, this is the right way," he answered. "Trust me."

Peter chuckled. "Have you ever given her any reason to trust you?"

"Shut up, Pete," said Sirius, and he firmly directed a very rude gesture in Peter's direction.

Peter just snorted.

"Alright, but I'm pretty positive we're about to be—"

_THWUNK._

A huge branch whipped through the thick, foggy air at us, looking dismembered and absolutely hostile.

We all jumped backwards.

"Killed by a tree branch?" Sirius answered cheerfully. "Is that what you were about to say, Evans?"

_THUD_.

Beside me, Peter's robes crumpled to the ground, and in place of Peter, a rat scurried out of a sleeve and straight towards the Whomping Willow.

"What—?" I began, but Sirius interrupted me.

"Wow, look at Wormtail go!" he exclaimed. "I think he's trying to impress you."

_THWACK!_

The very tips of a branch had swiped at Sirius's arm, and he leaped backwards, dropping the parchment from his hands. He swore under his breath as we watched it drift and disappear into the fog.

"Bugger almighty," he murmured, stepping onto Peter's robes. He picked them up with a heavy sigh. "Now we'll need to build a map locator-locator."

"You gave up quickly," I said. I stepped forwards a few paces, trying to find the parchment Sirius had dropped. "It's probably right over—"

"Lily! Watch out!"

_THUUUU—!_

A large branch came thrashing in the air towards us and froze mere inches from my face.

My heart stopped. "Holy hippogriffs," I breathed, staring at the bare branch with newfound fear and respect.

I'd nearly gotten taken out by a  _genocidal tree_ of all things!

"Good ole Wormtail," Sirius said fondly, tucking Peter's robes under one arm. "We've got about a minute to get to the base of the tree before it starts up again. Hurry!"

He grabbed my wrist and we bounded through the white nothingness before us, while I tried to get my heart back in working order.

A crow cawed over our heads from some nearby tree, though it was impossible to tell exactly where it was hidden. The fog seemed to clear the closer we got to the tree's trunk; its flapping branches must have dispersed it enough. A small, squeaking sound caught Sirius's attention and he laid Peter's robes on the ground.

Sirius laid his hand flat before the rat, who climbed into his palm and squeaked. "Evans, meet Wormtail," he said, lifting his palm to my eye-level.

I swear to Merlin and his magical beard that that rat stood up on its back legs and  _tipped its imaginary hat at me_. I laughed. "Pleasure to meet you," I said.

It squeaked back at me and Sirius chuckled. "Alright, alright." He deposited the rat into the neck of the mess of robes on the ground and when the rat squeaked again, Sirius groaned. "Evans, Monsieur Wormtail would be most obliged if we'd turn around while he—transforms."

As we turned our backs on the pile of robes and its one-rat infestation, Sirius rolled his grey eyes at me, and I giggled.

"Well, I'm all pretty now; you can turn back around."

Peter's robes were on backward and the way he held his arms out made him look like a scarecrow.

"Idiot," Sirius said, flipping Peter's hood up over his face, while Peter and I laughed. "Do I have to remind you two we're on a  _code orange_  here or what?"

Peter struggled to pull the hood off his head, his thin blonde hair going up with the static. "Sorry, mate. Just trying to lighten the mood."

"I have inappropriate reactions to stress," I added, feeling guilty.

James was  _missing_ , possibly stuck down a ravine somewhere and getting circled by a herd of rogue acromantulas, and I was having a laugh over Peter's stupid scarecrow antics?

Sirius nodded. "Eh, if Prongs is dead, he'd probably want us to laugh, anyway."

Peter punched him in the arm. "Oi, don't say that! No one wants Prongs dead."

Sirius met my eyes and said, "Inappropriate reactions, meet inappropriate personality," pointing to himself.

Peter huffed and put his robes on the right way. "Let's go."

Before I could ask  _where_  we were meant to go, Peter crouched down at the base of the willow and crawled into a den beneath the roots.

"I'm not going in there," I said, as Peter disappeared into Merlin knows where.

"Evans, this is where the map is—the map that will help us save James—"

"I know," I said, steeling myself as I crouched down. "I just wanted you to know that under any other circumstances, I think I'd take my chances with the Whomping Willow."

Sirius cast a " _Lumos!_ " with his wand and led the way, crawling through the entrance to a tunnel that opened up deep enough to walk in. We reached Peter, who was waving his own beam of light at the tunnel ahead, and he placed a finger over his lips.

"Padfoot, there's something up ahead."

Sirius stepped forwards, his nose in the air, as though smelling for something. "It isn't Prongs," he said.

Peter and I strayed just a step behind him as we neared a dark figure on the floor of the tunnel.

"No, but it's a student!" I said as Sirius's wand light swept over the telltale Hogwarts robes and the steady rise and fall of a sleeping body.

The student stirred, blinking at the sudden wand light in her face. I recognized her at once, but I was terribly confused at her presence in this tunnel.

"Dorcas?" I whispered.

Dorcas groaned.

"Oh my Godric, Dorcas!" I ran to her side as she struggled to get up, Sirius and Peter just behind me.

"Are you alright?" Sirius asked.

"Black," she croaked out. "Potter said you'd come." She grimaced, holding her side in pain.

Peter's eyebrows went up. "He gave you the map?"

She dug into her robes with some difficulty and fished out a bit of parchment. She dropped it, her hand going to her side as she hissed through clenched teeth.

As Sirius bent down to pick up the map, I asked Dorcas what was wrong.

Dorcas sat back down gingerly. "Got a mite cursed." She produced her wand and tapped at her side. She relaxed slightly, but still held a hand to her side.

"We need to get you to the hospital wing," I said. "Now."

Dorcas shook her head, her brown hair catching on her robes. "I can get there on my own.  _You_  need to find Potter."

"Dorcas, you can barely sit up," I argued.

"What's happened to James?" asked Sirius.

Peter looked over the map, concern finally shining in his eyes. "Padfoot, he isn't here."

Sirius's jaw clenched. "I know."

"He's still in Hogsmeade," Dorcas answered. "He got me out of there as quick as he could, but they caught him just outside the shack. He didn't want them to follow us through the tunnel."

Just as Sirius asked, "Who is 'they'?" Peter said, "Meadowes, what in the bleedin' hell were you doing in Hogsmeade? It isn't a Hogsmeade weekend."

Dorcas flinched again, biting her lip in obvious pain and distress.

I grasped her arm. "Dorcas, what kind of curse is this?"

She grimaced. "It's one of Snape's. Sectumsempra."

"Circe help us," I breathed.

It was one of Sev's crueller Dark Arts inventions, a curse that would continue to slash its victims as though with a sword no matter how many times the wounds were healed. He'd always said that it might work  _in theory_. I never thought he'd actually  _use_  it.

"I think I know the countercurse," I said. "But I need to apply it directly to your wound."

Dorcas nodded, and started to lift her robes, which I could now see were soaked with fresh blood.

Sirius and Peter turned around, huddled around the map.

A thin gash cut diagonally from below her ribcage to just before her navel. Normally this curse produced more than one slash, but it seemed she was only partially hit by the curse. The slashes should have also been much deeper—fatal—though it appeared that Dorcas had applied a stasis charm on the original curse so that it wouldn't cut so deeply. Smart Ravenclaw.

" _Sanumsempra_ ," I murmured, the tip of my wand glowing with iridescence as I moved it along her injury. The wound healed almost instantly.

"How did you know that?" said Dorcas, looking at me with a mixture of awe and curiosity.

That was almost a thank you.

I shrugged. "Lucky guess."

It wasn't the entire truth, but it was true enough to satisfy Dorcas for the moment. I just knew how Severus's mind worked. He'd always been a sucker for polarities. It had never occurred to me how violently he could apply that particular predilection, however.

"Thank you, Lily. I—I …" she faltered. She frowned. "I was so wrong about him—about everything."

"Yes, yes, we all have regrets," said Sirius. "Meadowes, I need you to tell me everything you know so that we can get James back safely."

"Right," she said. "Then I suppose you should know—there was a rally last night in the forest. Snape asked me to come, only he never said it was a rally, and he never said it was in the forest. He only told me that some of our team's family members were getting together after curfew, and that if I came along, it would be a good way for our team to bond, which would help our chemistry on the pitch. I couldn't argue with that logic, even if we were breaking the rules, so I went. The team and I and some others met Snape at the Entrance Hall an hour after curfew, and since he was technically on prefect rounds, he just let us outside."

Suddenly, his behavior last night clicked into place. That explained why he'd been checking his stupid wristwatch all night and why he'd tried to get us to split up during rounds. He was trying to get to this rally.

Dorcas continued. "When we got to the forest, I said I didn't feel comfortable going in and tried to turn around, and Snape said it'd be okay if I went back, but then Bellatrix convinced me to stay."

She went on to describe her increasing feelings of uneasiness as they crept through the forest, and the scene they came upon in the middle of a clearing. About two dozen or so students had showed up, apart from Dorcas's company. And at the front of the group—

"Death Eaters," said Dorcas. "At least half a dozen of them in masks. One of them had a cane, with a serpent's head—"

"Abraxas Malfoy?" I deduced, astonished.

Dorcas nodded. "I think so. I recognized it from the day the school governors came to stop our Hippogriff match. Anyway, I tried to escape as soon as I saw him. I got to the edge of the clearing, and that's when I saw him—Potter. He'd been watching them. He tried to help me make a break a for it, but as soon as he cast a Silencing Charm—I think it was because he was just outside of the clearing—it set off a ward, and suddenly, there were all these spells firing at us."

James had put up a Shield Charm, but they'd already been hit; Dorcas with a ricocheting Sectumsempra, and James with a—

"Sponge-Knees Curse," said Dorcas.

"Bit amateurish," judged Peter.

We all looked at him in disbelief.

"I mean, for a Death Eater, eh?" he clarified, attempting to appease us.

"Anyway," continued Dorcas. "It only got one of his knees, but it still made it almost impossible for him to run away."

"Fuck," muttered Sirius.

"We could either risk going straight back to the castle, or hide out somewhere nearby. I didn't really like either option, so I decided we had to go further into the forest, and Side-Along James to Hogsmeade."

"Brilliant plan," said Peter.

Dorcas smiled. "It would have been, only some of the Death Eaters had thought of it, too, and weren't far behind when we finally got there. We hid behind the buildings, trying to decide when to make a break for it, but there was a Death Eater at both gates at either end of the village, and another pair of them patrolling the streets. There was no way out. We were trapped.

"We spent the whole night trying to avoid them. Then dawn came, and when it started to rain, Potter said we'd better get to the Shrieking Shack, because there was a secret passage back to the school from there."

They'd used Disillusionment Charms to sneak to the Shack, but the rain made the ground slick, so James kept falling with his Sponge Knee, and Dorcas kept having to stop to heal her wound, which slowed them down, and by the time they realized their charms had worn away, one of the Death Eaters had spotted them.

"We couldn't go to the Shack at that point, because we'd be leading them straight back to Hogwarts," Dorcas recounted. "So Potter said we'd better split up. He gave me this—what'd you call it? A map?—and said you'd probably be looking for it, Black.

"Meanwhile, Potter was going to make an appearance back at Hogsmeade to lead them away from the Shack while I got away. I thought it'd take me forever to find the passageway, but the trap door was wide open as soon as I made it past the front door."

Sirius shot Peter a meaningful look at that, but Dorcas didn't catch it and went on.

"I made it pretty far until my Stasis Charm started to fail on my wound, and I just collapsed. And that's when you lot found me. What's so special about this map, anyway?"

Sirius looked down at his parchment and breathed a huge sigh of relief. "Oi, look, Wormtail, he's made it through."

Peter grabbed the parchment from him and a giant smile split across his sleep-deprived face. "Prongs is back."

I'd deduced that this map of theirs was probably a map of the Hogwarts grounds and had been made to track each other as long as they were within its boundaries, but I didn't want to take away from James explaining it to me, so I just shrugged at Dorcas.

"Marauders' honor," I supplied unhelpfully.

Sirius laughed and Peter grinned up at me.

Then, from down the tunnel, I heard James's voice say, "Did you prats show Lily the map without me? Because if so, I see a few pumpkin heads in my future."

A dim light ambled clumsily towards us, casting shadows across the stone and dirt walls. I practically jumped up and ran to James, who caught me in his arms as I hugged the life out of him.

"You're okay!" I murmured into his robes, and he had to lean against the wall to hug me back. I pulled back immediately. "Oh my Godric! Except your knee!"

He pulled me back into his arms. "Nothing a little Skele-Gro can't fix."

I reached up to brush my lips gently against his. "You and Dorcas need to get to the Hospital Wing immediately. And then we have to report everything to Dumbledore."

"But we'll get in trouble!" protested Dorcas.

James put his weight on me as we walked back to the rest of the group. He stared at her intently. "We might, yeah. But we can't have Death Eaters trying to recruit students in the middle of the night, either. You alright?"

Dorcas nodded, looking away from him with a troubled expression on her face.

Sirius and Peter came up to him and clapped him on the back.

"Good to see you, Prongs," said Wormtail.

"Monsieur," said James, and the three of them started in on a ridiculous round of hat tipping.

I turned to Dorcas, who still looked unconvinced. "Dumbledore will need to expand the wards on his castle to cover the forest," I elaborated. "And to do that, he'll have to meet with the centaurs and other beings of the forest for their permission."

"Thank you for saying 'beings' and not 'beasts' or 'creatures,'" said Sirius.

I mimed a hat-tipping at him, to which he curtsied and we grinned idiotically at each other for a moment before I turned back to Dorcas. "It's your choice, obviously," I told her.

James nodded. "I'll leave your name out of it, if you'd like me to, but I need to tell Dumbledore what I saw."

Dorcas looked away sheepishly. "I'm so stupid," she muttered to herself.

"You're a  _Ravenclaw_ ," pointed out Peter. "You can't get into your common room if you're actually  _stupid_."

Dorcas giggled in spite of herself. "Yes, but I meant—I didn't realize that—I just… didn't want to believe it."

We all waited in silence for her to gather her thoughts.

Finally, she said, "There's a war going on isn't there?" and looked at us all with shining brown eyes.

"Yes," I answered, and she looked so vulnerable as she searched my gaze for some kind of guidance.

"Then I suppose it's time I had a think about where I stand," she resolved.

It wasn't our place to make that choice for her, so we merely agreed silently, and the five of us crept back up to the castle.

* * *

 James refused to go to the Hospital Wing before speaking to Dumbledore, so I helped levitate him up to the Headmaster's tower, and let him go in alone.

Ten minutes later, I was being dragged into Dumbledore's office myself, as the whole Death-Eaters-recruiting-students-in-the-Forbidden-Forest thing was now a school wide concern.

"As Head Boy and Girl, I expect you'll keep a special eye out for any sort of hostility that may interfere with the safety of our students," Dumbledore said, his blue eyes shrouded with worry. "This is indeed devastating news. I must meet with Magorian at once."

Magorian was the leader of the centaur colony in the Forbidden Forest, and James shot me a knowing look.

"Sir, before you go, I wondered if you'd considered my proposal from our last meeting," James said.

Their last meeting? What?

I shot James a curious glance, and he looked so hopeful. Now I was more than intrigued.

Dumbledore softened a little. "I assure you that a change of curriculum for our first and second years is under serious review. One of the school governors, Mr. Fenwick, was particularly impressed by your proposal, Mr. Potter, so I do believe it has a chance of getting some attention by the next scholastic year."

James nodded, but I could see he wasn't particularly pleased.

As I was completely clueless and had no idea what either party were discussing, I remained as politely indifferent throughout the exchange as I could.

But I would definitely be asking him as soon as I had the chance.

That chance wouldn't come until I'd finally forced James to go to the Hospital Wing, after several detours to Gryffindor Tower ("I'd like a shower first, love."), the Great Hall ("Wouldn't a nice, spiced cuppa do us both some good?"), and the library ("I'll need something to distract me from the awful pain of growing back a kneecap, you know.").

It wasn't until I thought to pull the Remus card that he stopped putting off his inevitable hospital stay. "It'll be good for him to see a friendly face next door," I'd said.

I visited with Remus as Madame Pomfrey got James into a hospital robe, and we threw a few smirks over her shoulder at James's many protests against her prodding and fussing. When she left to retrieve a few more potions, I took the opportunity to distract him with my questions.

"What proposal has Fenwick so impressed, anyway?" I asked, attempting to be nonchalant about the whole thing.

I was Lily Evans, Casual and Cool.

"Just something I've been working on," he said vaguely.

And he was James Potter, Maddening Mystery.

Remus snorted. "Lily, could you please tell your boyfriend to shut up and stop talking about his proposal already? I can recite it all by heart by now."

I cracked a smile. "I know, he's so  _annoying_. Can't keep anything to himself."

James chuckled. "Alright, fine, stop begging; I'll tell you." He sat up in his bed and pulled at the neck of his hospital robe. "I've been trying to get Defense Against the Dark Arts to be required education for first and second years instead of an elective that you can start taking third-year. I think it's important for young kids to be able to defend themselves, especially now, but I've been meeting so much pushback from the governors and other educational bodies saying that eleven is too young to be introduced to defensive magic, that it'd be cruel to shatter the innocence of someone so young.

"And I understand that, I really do, but if an eleven-year-old gets lured into the Forbidden Forest because their older housemates are recruiting kids to Voldemort's side, and they have no way of backing out because they haven't learned a basic 'Protego' or 'Expelliarmus,' and they don't know how to stay calm in a high-stakes situation like that, it isn't fair to them. We aren't preparing them for the realities of this world, this war—this—they deserve so much better." His eyes were bright and passionate, and looking anywhere but at me.

Which was strange, as I'd never known him to be apologetic about anything that he believed in before.

I stared at him with something that felt a lot like awe and great affection. "James, I—" I didn't get a chance to say anything, and I wasn't sure what I'd say, exactly, as Madame Pomfrey chose that moment to return with a large bottle.

"Now, I can't say this will be pleasant, Mister Potter, but it's the only way to undo this nasty curse on your knee. Bottoms up!" She administered a healthy dose of Skele-Gro, which I could tell from the look on James's face tasted about as pleasant as a mouthful of troll bogeys.

"Ms. Evans," she said sternly, rounding on me, "I think it's best if you left these two young men to rest."

It wasn't a question. "Of course. May I just say goodbye?"

She nodded curtly, but didn't leave James's bedside, and I knew I wouldn't have a chance to respond thoroughly to his soliloquy, so I hugged Remus goodbye, and bent down to place a chaste kiss at James's cheek. "I think that's a brilliant idea, James," I whispered.

He smiled wondrously at me as I swept away, and I laughed as I heard him say very loudly to Remus, "Mate, I think she likes me."

"I dunno, mate," I heard Remus answer as I got to the doors. "I'd say she likes me better."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for sticking with this story, dear ones! I'll admit I had to put this aside the last month and focus on finishing up my master's degree. But now that's done, I'll have more time to write! My apologies for the long wait; hopefully I didn't disappoint. :) Enjoy and feel free to tell me what you think!

**Author's Note:**

> Kudos are always lovely, dear readers! I've been sitting on this thing for years, and it's terrifying to actually post it. If you have a mo, I'd love to know what you think.


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